


It's a Pleasure to Meet You

by braindelete



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Amnesia, Batfamily (DCU), Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gen, Recovery, Reference to past violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22148809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braindelete/pseuds/braindelete
Summary: After the gunshot that took his memory, Dick struggles to regain his connection to his family and his memories one person at a time.Ric fix it
Relationships: batfamily members - Relationship
Comments: 23
Kudos: 146





	1. Prologue: The Worst Part

There were a lot of things that a person could do in 6 hours. For some people that was a full day of work. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single thing except that in 6 hours you could remove a bullet from brain tissue, repair that tissue, put a plate over the damaged skull and sew up the wound. That was 6 hours also filled with pacing and fretting and more pacing. It was 3 phone calls, 10 cups of coffee, 2 mostly discarded slices of pizza from the all-night Slice Shop on the corner. It was seventeen times the door to the emergency room opened and closed with a doctor never making eye contact with him. It was seventeen times his heart stopped at the sound of that swinging door. 

For 6 hours he wasn’t sure if his son was alive or dead. 

He couldn’t get the sound of Dick’s body hitting the ground with a heavy thud out of his head. He made no attempt to catch himself just limply dropped with a spray of blood in the middle of a stupid joke before he or Gordon could move to stop it. 

His last words were going to be a joke. 

He remembered scrambling to Dick’s side, ripping his own glove from his hand and shakily reaching for his son’s throat to check for a pulse he hadn’t expected to find. He could hear Gordon talking but couldn’t register the words as he held his breath in a last, brief moment of hope for some movement against his fingers.

A weak bump persisted despite the odds. He moved his hand from Dick’s neck to check for breathing. He felt the warm wet air coming from Dick’s nose, but it was not nearly as much air as a normal breath. 

“We need to make a decision right now. We have to take him to a hospital, and you have to decide if you want him in there with a mask on or as whoever he is under there.” Gordon told him.

Damn Gordon and his plausible deniability. You took him to his prom. You know damn well who he is under that mask. 

“Change his clothes. I’ll change and follow.” 

He stayed with Dick counting heartbeats as the spaces between each pulse got longer and longer while Jim had a beat officer bring up some clothes to change the kid into. It happened fast and Bruce was hardly sure it had happened. Gordon did most of the work. He’d thank him later when the stakes had lowered.

Paramedics rushed him aside and he struggled against them long enough for Gordon to pocket Nightwing’s mask, fighting to get back to his wounded bird but he gave up quickly knowing now he had to let them work, it was out of his hands. Gordon pulled him back, making a bigger show of it than he needed to. 

The paramedics are about to have a lot of questions about why one of the “Princes of Gotham” was up on the roof of the GCPD building with the police commissioner and Batman, and a bullet in his head. Hopefully, they could play it off with a handwave about an assassination attempt, he’d come for protection and they were too late. 

To his credit, Gordon himself provided the police escort to Gotham General so that Batman could sneak away and “meet them there”. He wouldn’t arrive as Batman but stumble in as a distraught Bruce Wayne coming to find out what had happened to his eldest boy as if he hadn’t watched him take the bullet. 

Alfred crafted a story for the press and the hospital, for the inevitable questions when Dick Grayson was hauled in clinging to life. And there they waited, others trickling in after phone calls were placed. 

Door opening number eighteen, a somber blond doctor in fresh scrubs who smelled like industrial soap came toward them waiting. 

“Mister Wayne, you’re here with Richard Grayson?”


	2. Days Will Run Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred's vigil

For two days Dick had been in a coma. He wasn’t particularly responsive and the doctors were not particularly hopeful for recovery. There had been good news among the barrage of bad news regarding the damage the bullet did. The velocity of the bullet had made it a clean shot, which made the repair easier and the angle had kept it from going through his head lodging the bullet in the left side. Had the bullet gone through, he would be brain dead. 

Lucky (or unlucky) for Dick, the damage was retained to a select area of the parietal lobe, part of the temporal lobe as well as the sensory and motor strips. He’d likely have memory loss in some capacity but based on the damage to his hippocampus they weren’t sure how bad it would present until he woke up. It would be a long road back to normal but there was hope. He’d survive at least and recovery wouldn’t be easy but Dick was a survivor. He was strong. If anyone could get through this it would be him. At least, that’s what they’d been telling themselves. 

Bruce hadn’t been back since they found out Dick was alive. He’d left Alfred in charge of Dick’s care and took off to find who had done this. He had left a very specific instruction to bar Damian from all of this until they knew how bad the damage was. With that, he was gone. He’d be back when he punished the person responsible.

The first two days Alfred was there for the worst of it. He’d requested the first vigil until Dick was through the initial watch, or at least until he woke up. So Alfred stayed and the rest of the family kept the lights on. He sat with Dick and held his hand. He updated the eldest on the going on's of his family, how they were coping without him and how Bruce was off avenging him. 

Alfred was there on the third day when Dick opened his eyes briefly and fought against the breathing assistance. When he had his first seizure as the breathing tube was removed from his throat. He was there when Dick went back to sleep but was upgraded from coma to minimally conscious state, still holding his hand and waiting for consciousness to be stable and awareness to return. 

Keeping Damian away had been the hardest part. He was constantly asking when he would get to see Grayson and when Grayson was coming home. Alfred never had any answers for him but to explain that his older brother needed to heal before he could start seeing visitors. It hadn’t helped much, only made Damian more worried. But once Dick was off the breathing assistance he figured he could start letting them in on occasion. 

He’d approved Tim first. Tim was the calmest of them and with Bruce away avenging Richard, he was the next logical choice to gain entrance. He’d watched as Tim sat stoically at the bedside, holding his own vigil for his older sibling. He caught Dick up on Teen Titans business, the light stuff only. He’d told him about Connor and what annoying things Stephanie had done that week. When he was finally ready, he looked at Alfred with teary red eyes which prompted the older man to offer a hug. Timothy clung to him and sobbed heavily feeling the diminishing hope of Dick’s recovery for the first time. 

Barbara had been next to visit with Dick. She’d been less reserved than Tim had. She’d sat as close to the bed as she could manage, wrapping Dick’s pale hand in both of her own and curling her fingers around it. She’d remarked that he felt too cold and that everything about Dick’s motionless face was unsettling. She wasn’t used to seeing him lifeless like this. He’d agreed with her, done his best to be a comfort for her while she talked to someone who wouldn't respond and may never remember what she said. 

“They always say people in comas can hear you, so… might as well try.” She’d offered. 

“I think that’s wise, Miss Gordon.” Alfred affirmed. 

He’d attempted to reach Jason, despite Bruce’s instructions that Jason was not one of them anymore. He felt Jason deserved to know about Dick’s condition. 

He never received a reply. 

Alfred finally felt comfortable to bring Damian in, but to his surprise, the young man had beaten him to it. While he was out of the room to tend to his own needs, Robin had decided to pay a visit. He’d come in through the window while none of the nurses were nearby and perched himself at the end of the bed. 

He’d wanted to shoo the boy away but he didn’t have the heart after hearing him speak. 

“When father finds the one who did this, he should kill him.” Damian spoke. “You need to wake up and prove to them that you are not easily defeated. 

Damian received no reply, and Alfred felt his heart break all over again. 

After several minutes of stern warning, and coaxing. Damian finally relented his tone. There was a long silence coming from the room, and when he dared to peak inside, he saw the young boy bent over the bed. He was crying. Heavily. In a way Alfred wasn’t sure he’d truly seen before even after all this child had been through. And he remembered that despite everything, Damian was still just a child. 

He regretted keeping him away from Dick. They’d had a close bond and the worst place to have been from someone he’d loved so intensely was away during a time of need. He moved to enter the room to see if he could offer comfort, only to hear something that gave him pause.

A meek, gentle plea. “Please, Richard. Please don’t go.”  
With haste, Alfred returned to the room to pull the younger man into the warmest, tightest hug he could muster. Damian struggled at first but finally gave in, allowing himself to sob into Alfred and experience the emotions he needed to get out. To feel the loss he was trying to hide in bravado. They stayed like that for nearly an hour before Damian fell asleep.

Alfred was able to find some children’s scrubs to change the boy out of uniform in. Claimed there’d been a mishap and was able to wave it away by reminding them he was with Bruce Wayne’s boy. No further questions were asked. 

The last to arrive to visit was Bruce. It was so brief it had made Alfred angry. He’d popped in once to assure that Dick still lived. Then again he returned, the night after returning from wherever he’d gone after whoever he’d chased. It was simple, quiet. Almost as if there was nothing to be said. 

“It’s done.” Was all the explanation Alfred received. 

“Very well, then you can stay here for a few hours. Sit with him.” Alfred had directed. 

Bruce didn’t listen. He gave a lingering look at Dick in the hospital bed, before he’d left again. He mumbled something about specialists and talking to Mr. Terrific before he’d gone. Alfred watched him go before resuming his seat next to Dick’s bed. 

For the first time in many years, he was truly angry with Bruce. 

In a quiet moment, he was able to take inventory of Dick. He slept with his head wrapped up in bandages from his surgery. They’d fitted him with a cannula for extra oxygen. He was swollen, which he was assured was normal and would be monitored. His skin was paler than normal and he tried not to count the number of wires that had him connected to monitors for his heart and brain activity. The IV was taped to the other hand with two bags giving him blood and medications. 

“You’ve given us quite a scare, Master Dick.” He moved the blankets up closer to Dick’s chin as he spoke. “You’re sorely missed. Have your rest so you can come back to us ready to recover.”

He knew that Dick was still too out of it to really register anything he was communicating to him now. Even if he was awake, it’d be some time before he could understand and comprehend the world around him. He wanted to reach up and stroke his hair, but there was no hair now, as they’d shaved it off when they cut into his head. 

He sighed, allowing himself a moment to just relax against the back of the chair. He’d done this more times than he could count, posted beside one of the boys waiting for them to recover from the latest devastating injuries this life had given them.

“You boys have always been the most trouble,” Alfred said softly, as he took Dick’s hand in his own. “The women, they always seem to have it together and are relatively unscathed most nights. You boys come in shambled more often times than not. I used to think, back when it was you and Miss Gordon, that you were clumsier somehow. But that didn’t seem right. I know now you were showing off.”

Alfred had known Dick had a crush on Barbara long before any of them. Bruce would have been the last to pick up on it, his focus always being elsewhere, but Alfred knew the moment that boy came home from their first night with Batgirl, he’d found his first love. 

“I have watched you fight for your life too many times, young man. I know that you’re a strong-willed one. I know that you’ll find your way back to us eventually. I just, selfishly, must say you are taking too long this time.” 

It would have been just like the Richard Grayson he knew to wake up now after the big speech and say something intended to be funny, or punny, or downplay his injury. For a moment, he let himself hope that he’d see the blue of Dick’s eyes peek out from under the pale lids with a flutter of eyelashes and no ceremony before croaking out a groggy yet jovial statement to ease the pain around him. He’d give his weak signal that though it looked bad now he’d be okay. 

Alfred’s heart sank when it didn’t come.

_His parents were falling. Everything was dark around him as he sat on the platform that seemed much too high and far too wobbly. A rope snapped and his parents dropped, tumbling into the blackness below, his mother reaching for his hand panicking and screaming as she fell, her big brown eyes filled with terror and her dark hair flowing with the breeze. His father was face down so they never got a wordless exchange of goodbye._

_He leaned over the platform, reaching his impossibly small arms out to his mother. If only he could catch her she could be safe and they would be fine. He’s too small, too insignificant in this moment of desperation to save them. The platform bends under his weight, which doesn’t seem right, but either way, it’s leaning forward with him. He drops his hands to hold on, but it keeps tilting and he falls managing to grab hold of the edge just in time. He dangles, kicking his small legs in his costume tights into the darkness and he tries to summon the strength to crawl back up. A crack jolts the platform as the support pillar beneath it breaks bringing down the tent around him, and he lets go with a yelp of fear._

_He’s falling. In a swirling tunnel of black and red and white and nylon and air he’s falling. He seems to be falling forever, screaming until his voice his hoarse and his throat feels raw but he never hits the ground. Endlessly drifting down with nothing to catch him or stop the descent. His heart is pounding, his lungs ache from screaming but not breathing enough to maintain it. There is nothing but the endless drop._

_Someone or something - he can’t be sure - appears from beyond the tent. It’s obscured by the flapping of the tent but he lands on a soft, warm and furry surface. He takes a moment to catch his breath, closing his eyes. Sitting up he turns his head, then sits up to investigate his savior. He sits on the back of a giant black bat flying through the tent with ease as everything holding it up topples down. He feels safe here. He relaxes to allow himself to settle for the journey. Wherever the bat takes him it will be away from the end of his world._

_The bat screeches angrily and before he can see what caused the strife, he’s tumbling off his ride, and falling again. The bat above him struggles against an assailant hidden by the billowing tent and all he can do is fall back again into the darkness. But now he’s being watched. Patrons visible in the arena with white masks covering their faces watching as he drops into the black abyss below._

_Dick gives in to the fall._

“He’s seizing! I need some help here!” 

Alarms blared too loudly for the small space as Dick’s body jerks in the bed violently pulling at the sheets and tubes. A nurse is standing over him, only here to check his vitals and make sure his IVs bags are filled and working properly. Now she’s pinning him down and turning him over so he doesn’t strangle himself on wires in the midst of his thrashing. His body is tense, muscles taught for the first time in days. 

Alfred steps back to let her work as her cavalry arrives to help her. They’re all talking too fast for him to register treatment and before long he’s been shoved from the room with the door shut behind him as they struggle to bring the boy down. He’s alone in the hallway when he sits in an empty chair, bows his head and lets sorrow take over his body in a wave of sobs.


	3. Fell in Love Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbara

Barbara was no stranger to the process of recovery and perhaps was the best equipped to be here now. A month ago they’d been sharing a honeymoon suite for a couple that never said I do, the symbolism was not lost on her as she’d passed up her opportunities to be Mrs. Grayson, discussing dream nuptials. Now, he didn’t know her name.

She stayed anyway. She came every morning at the beginning of visitation, sat at his side and held his hand. Sometimes, he was awake and the visit was a break in his day of a medical staff member coming in to give him orders or poke and prod. Sometimes, he was asleep which could occasionally catch her breath in her throat behind the lump that choked her with the fear he might be lost again. 

So far he always came to. 

Today he was awake, fresh from a toilet trip and struggling to lift himself from his wheelchair to his bed. 

“Morning,” She greeted in a tentative tone.

Dick’s mood swings, they had been warned, were often and pendulous but temporary. A symptom of the injury. It didn’t make it sting less when his response was a venomous snarl.

“Hi… uh… Barb—ara, right?” He slurred back at her, thankfully docile. 

“Correct! Well remembered.” She took her usual seat as she spoke encouragingly. 

Dick huffed once he was settled on the bed, leaning back on the pillows. His hospital gown had long since been subbed for simple sweats and a t-shirt. His hair was starting to grow in, speckling his head with black and he was due for a shave. She noted that the nurse did not reconnect his monitors or the IV line to the port in his arm. The nurse must have sensed her questioning, as she turned to Babs with a kind smile. 

“The therapist will be here in a few minutes for PT, so we’ll give him a break from being wired up.” 

Babs nodded. “Can I stay? If he’s okay with it…” 

Dick shrugged, leaning back on the pillows and looking toward the window. 

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” The nurse answered. 

When the nurse was gone, Babs moved her chair closer to the bed. Dick was skittish about shows of affection. When he’d woken up, there was a clueless haze of confusion. He didn’t remember them, he didn’t remember their extracurricular life on the rooftops of Gotham. His own name eluded him for a few days but he flinched at the touch from these familiar strangers. All she wanted was to hold his hand, to see relief in his eyes where now she saw nothing but anguish. He was so lost but afraid of the map.

“How are you feeling today?” She asked him, cautiously. 

He was quiet for a moment, then took a deep breath to answer her. 

“Light isn’t hurting my head as much as it was. My throat feels better today and I held down breakfast so far.”

His life sounded awful right now, parsed between scales of 1 to 10 and whether or not he could hold food down. Not a single person he could lean on because everyone in the hospital was a stranger and everyone who claimed to be a friend was lost in the neural pathways damaged by speeding lead and copper alloy. 

“Well, that’s good news. I know it doesn’t feel like it now..” She offered.

Dick was silent before he raised his head, looking at her with empty eyes. Normally they sparkled, which sounded cliche to her own narrative, but it was true. His eyes sparkled and were filled with life. You could tell exactly what his mood was by seeing his eyes because it was the only place he couldn’t hide it. At least, not from her. 

“Who am I to you? You’re the Commissioner’s daughter sure, I can get that initial visit because the Rich Guy, he owns the city. But why do you come every day? What did I mean to you?” He asked her plainly. 

“We aren’t supposed to be working on memory now…” She offered, trying to dodge the question. 

“I don’t care. I want to know.” He sighed. “You sit here every day, wasting away with me, knowing I don’t know you. And you come back day after day and try to look hopeful and not like it’s a gut punch every time I don’t recognize you beyond this interaction. So, it’s fair for me to ask you, who am I to you?”

How did she answer that question? A best friend, a comrade in arms, a one time lover and then a lover again and again? An example of failed romance? What were they to each other besides two people that seemed to be pulled together by some magnetic force in the universe that made them do this will they or won’t they romantic subplot? How did she answer that with the amount of emotion that brought up for her to brick wall that was in front of her?

“You’re probably the love of my life.” She stated simply. 

Dick didn’t get a chance to talk to respond to that, because his physical therapist came in with her perky bopping ponytail and her tight scrubs carrying a clipboard. She smiled brightly and instantly Babs hated this woman. 

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” 

Babs shook her head, and stood up, giving Dick a nod before going to get something to drink and eat while Dick was in his therapy. She figured it was best to regroup and hope that confession she’d dumped on him was forgotten. 

Dick looked at his therapist, giving her a shrug as he worked to get out of bed. He hadn’t gotten a chance to respond to Barbara’s revelation. 

“Ready to go?” The woman asked, Hannah? 

He thinks it’s Hannah. 

“Yeah… can I… try something today? Maybe down the hall to the lobby?” He gave her a grin.  
Hannah considered it then looked at her clipboard. 

“I reserve the right to stop it if you’re pushing yourself too hard, okay?” She told him. 

He nodded. “Deal.”

Leaning heaving on his walker, Dick stood on shaking legs. Moving the walker slightly forward, he followed it with one step, which took more effort than he felt it should have. He sighed heavily, then grunted through the next step. He ignored him the constant peptalking of the excessively happy woman. He kept focused like he never had before. One foot, then the other. 

Before he knew it they were halfway down the hall. Each step easier than the one before it, less painful, less stiff. His body ached but he pushed through. He could see the end of the hall, the goal in sight. He had an objective and whether he meant to or not, he’d inspired his own work today. 

Hannah followed, she was encouraging each step. She kept an eye on him for signs of stress. A step wrong here, a hesitation, a waver. Anything that might be lead her to turn him back to the room to rest. She’d learned that too many exclamations lead to eye rolls and grunts, so she tried to keep them to herself - mostly. She was a silent cheerleader despite the assurance from his close visitors that Dick was usually much more likeable. 

He made his goal of reaching the florist at the end of the hall, next to the gift shop. He told Hannah it was weird that hospitals had gift shops, like it was a Gotham tourist destination. She’d laughed when he said that actually seemed right for Gotham. 

“That might be your first real memory.” She offered. “You remembered Gotham is weirdly dangerous place.”

He laughed. “I’m in the hospital after being shot in the head. I don’t know if that qualifies as a memory.” 

Dick selected some flowers he thought were pretty. They were purple and yellow daisies, wrapped in paper and tied with a purple bow. Hannah picked them up for him to hand to the cashier.

He fumbled with the pen to write on the small card that had been given to him by Hannah. A few frustrated noises later and he handed the card back. 

“Can someone deliver these to my room, to the pretty redhead who visits me every day?”

When Babs returned to the room from getting coffee, there was a bouquet of flowers sitting on the chair she normally sat in. She picked up the note attached and read it. It was a shaky, barely legible script that looked as if a child had written it. 

Thanks for being here. I’m sure it’s not easy. It’s nice not to be alone. I can easily see that I probably loved you back. :) 

For the first time since the night in the waiting room, Barbara cried. 

When Dick made it back to the room he noticed the flowers had made it. He smiled at Barbara, it was soft and welcoming, unlike he’d been previously. He chose not to speak to her about the tear stains on her cheeks. If she wanted to talk about it she would. That was her business to share her emotions with him. 

“Thank you,” She said. “For the flowers. 

Dick gave her a nod.  
He worked to get back into the bed slowly, letting go of the walker and easing himself in. His arms shook under his own weight and Barbara stood by justin case he needed help. He appreciated that she didn’t force her assistance. She’d wait for him to ask for the boost. 

“It was the literal least I could do,” Dick replied.

Lifting his legs up into the bed, and easing himself back against the pillow, he let out a huff of exhaustion. It was not easy learning how to walk again, he didn’t envy anyone who truly couldn’t walk. He’d just been experiencing atrophy. He couldn’t imagine having to do everything from scratch or coming back from paralysis. 

“Hey, let me compliment you,” Barbara rolled her eyes. “You did a nice thing and you can take credit for doing a nice thing.” 

Dick sighed, giving in to her request by waving his hand dismissively. He was truthfully glad the flowers had given her some warm feelings, since he’d been bad at providing them for her. He was difficult about being visited. She always said it was okay. She wasn’t offended because he didn’t remember. But he could see the pain in her eyes every single time. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Dick said. 

“Do what?” She asked. 

“Sit here day after day with me not knowing you, feeling the way that you do about me. Saying I’m the love of your life is a big deal. That has to really be hard for you.” 

Babs was quiet. It was hard. Dick was difficult and on top of it, he was blank. All their years together was just gone. He didn’t know all that was between them. The joy he’d brought her, the times he’d broken her heart, the times he’d swooped in to repair it after. 

“It is hard.” She finally said, her tone quiet.

“You don’t have to, you know?” He said. “I’m okay… and everyone else comes pretty regularly.” 

She smiled. “I want to. Because that’s what you do when you love someone. You stick around even when it’s not easy and when it hurts. And you’ve done the same for me.”

“You’ll have to tell me about that some day.” Dick said. 

She would.


	4. A-Ok

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim

This whistle from his lips echoed only until it was replaced by the sound of the large door closing behind him. He was seeing Wayne Manor for the first time, as far as he was concerned, and even the entryway was huge compared to the cramped vardo he remembered from the circus or the hospital room he’d spent the last few weeks. 

“You did the same thing as a boy when Master Bruce brought you home.” Alfred mused. 

“This place is insane…” Dick muttered. “I bet I was a terror on these bannisters.” 

“Master Dick, the amount we’ve spent to replace those crystal chandeliers could have kept small country fed.” 

Behind him, Tim entered, carrying the duffle bags of clothes that they’d brought Dick for his stay in recovery. He rolled his eyes as he heard the end of what Alfred had shared.

“We could have just fed the small country…” He chided. 

It didn’t matter how many times he’d visited in the recovery home, or how many times he heard Dick talk or saw his face, it still unnerved Tim that his older brother was basically a stranger. He knew Dick: the older brother figure who’d been a friend and mentor to him. He knew his mannerisms from the way he’d flip the front locks of his hair from his face, to the slight wrinkle between his eyes when he was annoyed. Even the anxious bounce of his leg when sitting still for too long. He’d learned Dick inside and out, like a good detective. 

This man in their entryway sounded like Dick, he looked like Dick (except for the hair and a scar on his head) but it wasn’t Dick. Because Dick didn’t remember. 

“If you want, I can show you your room. Familiar spaces are supposed to be a trigger for memories.” Tim adjusted a bag on his shoulder.

Dick looked over, taking a deep breath, before nodding. This is where Tim expected Dick to run his fingers through his hair, a move that signaled trying to be cool amidst discomfort. He didn’t. Not that he had enough hair to run his hands through. 

“Yeah. Let’s do that.” He smiled. 

Tim could tell it was forced but he didn’t say anything. He ignored the tightness in his throat and nodded, leading Dick toward the grand staircase. 

“Follow me!”  
As they walked down the hallway, Tim pointed out rooms: Jason’s room, which no one really went in. Dick remained unmoved by that knowledge since he had yet to meet Jason. The second Robin hadn’t come during his recovery and to Dick he was just another stranger, a name with no face. Then Tim’s room, where they stopped long enough for the oldest to peer in and check out the life of his younger brother. 

“You can come in, if you want..” Tim offered, hesitant. “Actually, I want to show you something… if you want to see it.”

Dick took a full minute to respond, as if for a moment his brain had turned off and rebooted again. Long pauses would be normal, trouble processing questions or statements would be normal, Tim reminded himself. Of everyone in the family, he’d taken the most time digesting all the side effects for Dick’s aftercare because it’d made him feel useful when he felt powerless. 

“Show me,” Dick responded. 

The younger man inhaled sharply before gingerly scooting passed Dick to enter the bedroom. He picked up a framed photo, it was a simple silver frame which didn’t match the overly gilded details of the rest of the decor. It actually made Dick lose some tension in his stance as Tim handed it over. 

He set eyes on the photo where he instantly recognized his parents in their show uniforms. There were two other adults he didn’t recognize with them. The center of the photo was his younger self, also in his show uniform with a smaller boy sitting on his knee. He reflected a moment, the way this boy looked up at him with admiration. The proud smile on his own face, blissfully unaware of how his life would change. 

“This is us.” Dick whispered. 

Tim felt a tug at his heart. No coaxing needed, just honest recognition of the photo. It wasn’t much but it made him elated. 

“Yeah! Yeah. My parents took me when I was a kid to see the circus and I sat in awe of you the whole time.” Tim confessed, like Dick never heard this story. “I… man meeting you was such -- you were my hero.”

Dick smiled. “That’s really nice. I remember this. Some of it. I mean, I was also a kid so..” 

Tim laughed, feeling his cheeks heat up. He was babbling, he knew it, but having any tangible memory right now was such a win he couldn’t ignore. 

“That’s how I figured out you were Robin, then by extension, that Bruce was Batman. You had the same moves.” 

“Clever,” Dick nodded, impressed, almost exactly the face he’d made the first time he’d learned that. “Very clever. That’s how you became Robin then?”

“That’s more complicated… we don’t need to get into it now.” 

Tim left the room with a motion of his head toward the door, indicating that Dick should follow. He watched, unsure if he’d done something wrong, hit a nerve somewhere in something he’d forgotten, so he set down the picture before following. 

The bedroom at the end of the hall was directly across from the master bedroom. The door had the same intricate carving in the dark wood, and the same molding frame as all the rest of the doors in the manor, but this door felt more daunting. Behind it was a lifetime he didn’t know. It was full of the pieces that created a Dick Grayson that these people wanted him to but that he had no connection to. 

His chest felt tight as he inhaled feeling a sudden lack of oxygen in the large space. He was keenly aware of his own heart as it was thudding heavily against his chest. He didn’t remember swallowing a brick but he felt the weight in his stomach as he tried desperately to hold in the panic burning through his veins, heating his arms and face and neck as the door clicked with the turn of the brass knob in his palm. 

The day dark room that waited on the other side was void of anything to truly dread, unless he was dreading the person he once was. To say it was like a mausoleum felt especially dark in light of his injury, but the air inside felt heavy as if this would forever be a space captured in time of a person who lived as a ghost of themselves. 

“I.. should probably turn on the light,” Dick tried to sound light but the words felt trapped in this throat. 

His swallowing felt thick.

Flicking the light switch on, with Tim standing just behind him, he stepped foot into the room. It was spartan to say the least. A four poster bed, that looked about as antique as the rest of the furniture, a nightstand with a lamp, a bookshelf with books and toys, a trunk at the foot of the bed and a huge telescope at the large blue curtained window. 

“I can’t believe my bedroom has a fireplace.” He laughed weakly. 

“You’re the favorite.” Tim teased. 

Dick sensed that wasn’t entirely a joke but he let it go for now. Above the bed was the only thing familiar to him, a poster from his family’s show, hung dead center between the two pillars of the bed. His heart sank. He noted above the fireplace was a movie poster for Robin Hood, which was his favorite childhood story. Along the mantle were various trophies and awards.

“I’m sorry… this isn’t…” He turned to Tim. 

Tim read the look on Dick’s face, immediately approaching with a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay. It’s just your room, I didn’t expect it to make everything rush back. It’s not how amnesia works.” He smiled. 

He secretly hoped it would have worked like a cartoon or a soap opera and the right trigger brought back everything, but Dick didn’t need to know that. 

Dick looked around with a brief nod to Tim’s reassurance. 

“I have an idea.” Tim smiled. “Just something easy. You don’t have to feel pressure. But it’s a surprise.” 

“Alright, I’ll.. trust you.” Dick smiled.

Tim knew that Dick would never fully understand the weight of what he said, that in the moment he said he trusted Tim, that his heart stopped just briefly. He had gained something very special and sacred: trust from his older brother, his mentor, his friend… who didn’t know him. He felt his nose sting but he forced back the need to cry until he had some time alone to let go. 

He waved his hand toward the door for Dick to follow him, and made his way down the hall and toward the stairs. He had to admit he hoped this next stunt would do something, anything to remind Dick of who he was, who they were to each other, but he couldn’t get his hopes up. Logically he knew it wouldn’t happen like that. It was a real life with real damage, not a soap opera or a cartoon where miraculously the hero sees the exact right object that brings it all flooding back. Maybe he wasn’t too cynical yet to believe in one last miracle. 

After all, Dick was alive after a shot to the head, which in itself was pretty close to a miracle. 

At the base of the stairs, he took a left before walking back toward the kitchen. The full house tour was now a task Tim had given himself. Dick felt comfortable with him. 

“So here is the kitchen, where we have spent many hours terrorizing Alfred more than he deserves…” Tim admitted.

Dick took in the size of the large kitchen, running his hand along the marble island as he watched Tim dig around the cupboards. His mother would have loved to have a space like this to cook in. He could practically smell her food, see her standing by the small stove in their vardo. It made him ache. 

Tim returned was in the fridge now with a carton of milk in his hand. Dick turned his head, not sure where this was going but intrigued to see the end result. There was a can of something, Dick couldn’t read the label on it. He put the milk down, grabbed two glasses and dropped a couple spoonfuls of brown powder into each of them then filled them with milk. He stirred vigorously before grabbing a plate with four snack cakes on it.

“Are those… Zingers?” Dick asked. 

Tim looked pleased. “And Ovaltine.”

“My favorite snack…” He grinned.

Time nodded. He knew. He’d shared it with his big brother many times, to the point that it’d come to be their snack. After a bad patrol, after a long day of work and school and even after breakups, Alfred had Zingers and Ovaltine waiting. 

“Next you’re going to tell me that you have a whole cabinet full of cereal.” Dick picked up one of the treats. 

Tim grinned and moved to open a cupboard behind him, full of different varieties of cereal as if they’d been curated specifically to his tastes.

“I guess you really do know me here.” 

When Dick hugged him, he tried to hold back tears but he gave in, hugging back tighter than he realized he was going to. He buried his face in Dick’s shoulder and sniffed a weak reply. 

“I hope one day you know us.”


	5. Better Open the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason

The house was oddly silent. It was unnerving to be alone in a big space like this without a sound around him. As far as he knew not many people lived in the house, the way Tim explained, so he could only imagine that the silence was constant for the occupants. Even Dick had his own place, and could go back there when he chose to. But the first few weeks were recommended that he stay with people as he could still have seizures, experienced tremors and black outs so it was best he wasn’t alone. 

He hadn’t seen Rich Guy Bruce since he’d come home. Tim and Alfred had helped him get settled and showed him the house which he had to admit he would still be lost in. He was tired and excused himself to rest, with help from Alfred who promised he’d be just an intercom call away if Dick needed anything. Thankfully, he had his own bathroom in the Dick Grayson Shrine so he wouldn’t have to wander far. 

Alfred left after a tutorial on how to use the intercom.

“All you need to do, Master Dick—”

“Please, just Dick.” It felt weird to be addressed with a title. 

Alfred’s eyes softened, and it was the first attempt at a smile that Dick had seen on the old man since he’d walked in the door. He felt like that meant he’d done something right. 

“Of course, M--Dick.” He cleared his throat. “Well, you simply press the button and speak into the speaker here, and I will come with anything you may need.” 

Dick nodded. “Sounds simple enough. Thanks.” 

Once the butler retreated - which hardly felt fair to call him a butler when he felt more like the family patriarch nearest Dick could tell - he’d examined the room a bit more. Picked up trophies with his name on them: he was apparently a gymnastics champion. He went through the closet and found a lot of basic clothing, some Gotham High School branded items and several tuxedos and suits. 

There were not many photos in the room. One or two of him as a kid with Rich Guy Bruce and Alfred, one with Tim, what looked like a school formal photo with Barbara, nothing that stuck out to him. He’d dig more later when he wasn’t so tired. 

He sat on the bed to just sit there quietly for a minute and breathe but it wasn’t long before he heard something outside. 

“Oh fucking come on!” Someone yelled. 

He didn’t turn until there was a tap on the window. When he looked over his shoulder, there was a man who looked.. well, just like the rest of them. He was crouched by the window trying to open it, intense dark blue eyes and dark black hair with streaks of white in the front. He motioned for Dick to come toward the window, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. 

Dick watched him with uncertainty, eyeing the distressed brown leather jacket and the frustrated look on the other man’s face. 

“Yo, golden boy. Open the window. Seriously. Why is it locked?” 

This guy must be Jason. He was too old to be Damian, too young to be Bruce, so that was the only other person he hadn’t met face to face yet. So, he unlocked and opened the window. 

Jason rolled his eyes and shoved his way through the window with all the grace of a stampeding buffalo, nearly taking out the telescope in the process. He dusted himself off, and stood up straight before taking the cigarette out of his mouth and at least had the courtesy to blow it out the window, rather than into Dick’s face. 

“So you’re home.” He said bluntly, looking Dick over. “And Babs says you have no idea who any of us are. I should be so lucky.” 

Dick stared at him. “I assume you’re Jason?”

“What gave it away? My good looks or my genuine ne’er-do-well nonchalance?”

“You’re too old to be Damian.” Dick deadpanned. 

Jason stared at Dick for a long beat, surveying the man before him. He was way too pale, and he’d definitely lost mass. Shaved head was not his older brother’s best look. He sighed heavily. 

“Bullet took your sense of humor too.” 

He flopped down on the bed, laying back and looking up at the ceiling before turning his head back to look at Dick. The blank stare he got back was unnerving. He didn’t like feeling helpless and useless, and that was part of why he’d stayed away during recovery. What could he have done besides watch Dick struggle, languishing as less than what he’d used to be while everyone expected him to be a former version of himself? Dick wasn’t going to be the same in the same way Jason would never be the same. 

“Why didn’t you use the door?” Dick asked, because it was all he could think of to say. 

Jason laughed before taking a long drag off his cigarette. 

“Me and Brucey Boy aren’t exactly seeing eye to eye right now. No big deal. It happens. We all break up with the Mother Bat from time to—” He paused. Maybe Dick didn’t know about the bat stuff yet. 

Oops. 

Dick laid next to him on the bed. He didn’t say anything other than removing the cigarette from Jason’s mouth. Jason was certain he’d put it out, a golden boy even if he didn’t remember it, but was genuinely shocked when Dick took a drag of it. He coughed once before blowing the smoke toward the ceiling. 

“I get the feeling he’s a difficult person to get along with.” Dick replied, handing back the smoke. 

“It seems like that for everyone but you.” Jason admitted. “Even when you used to fight, you still always came back. You always defend him. It’s why you’re golden boy.” 

Dick scrunched his face. “Not anymore.”

There was a part of him that had always wanted Dick to see things his way. They’d been at odds since they met and when he was younger he’d only wanted to be accepted by the original. To not feel so much like a replacement. Now he was laying on Dick’s bed, sharing a cigarette with the guy he’d wanted to be in his corner finally seeing things from a similar view, and he had to admit… he hated it. 

This wasn’t right. Dick Grayson didn’t smoke cigarettes and talk about Bruce being a jerk. Not to him. Not to the younger ones either. He was always the guy who moved ahead and defended the big bad bat, and tried to keep the disagreements between them just that. 

“I have to say… I know this probably sucks for you, and I can definitely understand those looks they give you.” Jason started. “The ones where they’re trying to be supportive but they’re secretly wishing you were the guy you were before. They still give me that look. So… if you ever need to just… not… with them, call me. I promise not to make you feel like you’re letting me down.”

Dick said nothing and Jason instantly felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He didn’t mean to imply that Dick was letting anyone down. 

“You aren’t, you know? They just want you to…” 

“No… I am.” Dick sighed. “I know that I am, even if they don’t mean to feel that way.” 

Jason knew that feeling well since he had always been the disappointment of the family. He pretended it didn’t bother him, but there were times when they had their rare team ups that he wanted to be part of the team. He thought maybe he could finally be one of the group and get along with them all. 

And then he’d fight, usually with Dick, and then he’d bail again. 

“Look, we all want you to get better. Not just remember, but feel good in your skin and not feel fragile. It’s hard on them because you’re…” He sat up. “You’re the damn bright spot in all the shit in this family and it’s been pretty dark without you.” 

Dick was quiet again. It wasn’t like Dick to be silent. Especially with Jason being the emotional one. 

“That’s a lot to live up to.” Dick said softly, still laying on his back. “What if I’m not that anymore? What if I can’t be that again?”

“Fuck, Dick. Then don’t be. I don’t know.” He sighed. “Just… no matter what you chose these idiots will be here for you. Eventually.” 

Dick snorted. “Very convincing.” 

Jason huffed. He stood up and started looking around the room, trailing smoke from the cigarette as they went. He really hadn’t been in Dick’s room much, and when he was it was to sleep or troll. He never looked at stuff in the room. So when he found a picture of the two of them when Dick had taken him camping, he picked it up and stared. 

Fuck you, Grayson. Fuck you for making me feel this way. 

“We haven’t always had the best relationship, Dickie Bird. Part of that I guess is on me. As much as I like to blame you, and blame Bruce.” He sighed. “But now we have a chance to start over.”

Dick finally sat up on the bed. He watched Jason, standing at the other end of the room with his shoulders slumped, looking down at something in his hands. 

“Thank you for being the first to just… talk to me.” Dick said softly. 

“What?” Jason asked, turning around. 

“I feel like everyone else is on eggshells, being gentle and kid gloving me. I appreciate that you’re just spilling it all out.”

Jason came back, sitting down on the bed beside Dick and handing over the framed photo. He gave a weak smile when as Dick looked it over. 

“Who let me have this mullet?” Dick asked.

Jason laughed, loudly. “Well. No one let you. You went through some things.” 

They sat in silence for awhile. Jason finishing off his cigarette and occasionally offering it to Dick. He took another drag or two from it but mostly enjoyed the silence. He didn’t know that this meant something to Jason, because he didn’t know their history of barely tolerating each other. For now, they were equal and they were comrades. Outsiders in this family that expected so much from them they couldn’t provide. 

The sunlight was starting to fade from the windows, hidden behind trees as it prepared it’s decent. Dick was tired but he felt oddly comforted by Jason’s presence. As if he sensed that, Jason moved to get up, stretching ad he did. Dick watched him stand. 

“I don’t know if you’ll ever be you again, but just so you know, I don’t care either way. If you need me I’m here. I’ll navigate with you. Just… promise me something okay?”

Dick nodded. Jason continued. 

“Don’t let this dim you. I may not have been good at saying things I feel to you or anyone else.” Jason swallowed a lump in his throat. “But you always gave me hope. I don’t want you to lose that part of you.” 

“What if I’m never the same?” 

Jason scoffed. “You won’t be the same. Not ever. But you can come back from this. Maybe you’ll be better.” 

Dick nodded, standing up. Jason knew this was usually when he’d get a hug but Dick didn’t make the move. The inevitable grab to cling to whoever he meant to sucker into the hold like a child holding too tight to a puppy. 

So Jason closed the gap between them. 

Dick tensed at first, which made Jason want to vomit. But ultimately, he returned the embrace and they stood there until Jason awkwardly broke free and saluted, retreating through the window he’d entered from.


	6. Indoor Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian

“Father, you should have summoned me IMMEDIATELY when Grayson returned home.” 

Damian Wayne’s voice echoed through the manor as he curtly addressed the family patriarch with venom dripping off every word. He’d been away with the Teen Titans, which as far as everyone had agreed, was best for the circumstances. Having Damian immediately pouncing on Dick would have made the ease from treatment and recovery to a home full of strangers that much more stressful, even if Damian had the best intentions. Bruce had kept him at bay, distracted by the business of his team. Starfire had been sure to keep him focused away from Dick. 

“One day, son, you’ll learn that not everything revolves around you,” Bruce said sternly. “That sometimes we have to make decisions that are best for someone else, even at the expense of what we think is best for us.” 

His mother’s eyes stared back at Bruce with the same fury he’d seen in her many times. Bruce sighed and sat beside Damian on the sofa. He didn’t dare touch his son, knowing it would be akin to grabbing a snake by the neck, exposed to a bite. 

“I know you care about him, and want to be there for him,” Bruce softened. “That wasn’t what Dick needed. He needed some space.”

“From only me?” Damian’s words coated in a sense of betrayal. 

“No. From all of us.” Bruce assured. “We’ve been going in small doses, exposing him to us slowly. We’re trying not to overwhelm him.” 

“So I’m overwhelming!” Damian snapped. 

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Each boy had presented their own challenge to raise, and Damian was no shortage of challenges. They’d made so much progress in a short time, but there was still much more to be made. Dick being absent had proven a bigger challenge than he’d anticipated. 

_“Because Dick is the Demon Child Whisperer. And the Bat Whisperer” Tim had joked._

“It’s not that you are overwhelming. It’s that you have a lot of emotions in your relationship with Dick. Right now, he can’t return that the way he used to. So for his sake, and your sake… I wanted him a little more stable before bringing that into his recovery.” 

“tt” Was all Damian replied, crossing his arms and slumping. 

“You can see him. But remember what we talked about,” Bruce stood up as he spoke. 

Damian’s reply was softer than his previous anger.

“He doesn’t know me.”

Dick had slept for twelve hours straight once Jason left. He’d shuffled down the stairs around noon the next day, groggy and displaced, looking fairly lost. Thankfully, Alfred had been there to scoop him up and guide him to the kitchen where he was promptly sat in a chair. He was a few bites into a sandwich and soup when he saw the head peeking around the frame of the kitchen door. 

He sat back in his chair, putting his soup spoon down and motioning for the person to join him. The last “brother” in the Wayne Orphan Club to finish his journey of meeting everyone he’d forgotten. He offered a smile as Damian cautiously approached, and slumped in a chair beside him. 

“Are you up to speaking to me, Grayson?” Damian asked. 

Dick flinched at the tone and use of his surname and Damian immediately wanted to retreat. Maybe his father had been right to keep him away. 

“Yeah, I just slept for like... a day so…” He shrugged. “I assume you’re Damian?” 

Damian nodded, eyeing the way Dick’s hand shook slightly when holding the soup spoon. He couldn’t hold an escrima stick like that. Or one of his wingdings. He’d be very ineffective in the field with that twitch. 

“Well, I’m glad I finally get to meet you. I understand you and I were pretty close.”

“I suppose we were. You’ve been the most acceptable of father’s false sons.” Damian replied. “I was your Robin before I was father’s.” 

Dick smirked. He’d been Batman? That was news. Before he’d returned to Wayne Manor there had been discussion of their secret cave below the house where Bruce became Batman every night. Not from Bruce himself, but from Alfred and Barbara who explained that his injury had come from being a hero at Batman’s side. Dick had yet to decide if he believed them or not. 

“I hope we can be close again.” Dick offered. 

Damian couldn’t stop watching the tremors. It didn’t appear that Dick had noticed his stare, but watching the jostle of the spoon as and the twitch in his fingers, the occasional flinch made Damian frown. His eyes burned and he tried to blink back the heat of tears forming there. He couldn’t, and he let them lose, stumbling out of the chair and hugging Dick around the waist. 

Dick yelped in surprise, dropping the spoon with a clatter on the wooden table before putting his hand on Damian’s back. 

“Hey, hey… it’s alright.” He comforted. 

“It’s not alright! You could have died. And now…” He sniffled. “You’re damaged and father should have killed the scum who did this to you.” 

“No, he shouldn’t have.” Dick said softly. “Killing him wouldn’t have changed anything.” 

Damian knew he was right. KGBeast could have his head smashed in and splattered all over Gotham but Dick would still be right here, recovering from the same wound, in the same condition. It would change nothing, except that revenge would have come. Maybe KGBeast would never hurt another one of them. 

Maybe not. 

“I’ve missed you so much. I just want you to remember who I am.” Damian sniffled. 

Dick pulled back so he could look at Damian right in the eyes. He knew these responses were coming. They couldn’t hide their emotions forever. All of them wanted to be remembered, to be recognized. All of them wanted his memories to come back so the connections would be there. So that he wouldn’t be this blank page before them. 

“I might not, Damian.” He said softly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn about you all over again. I’m here so we can start again. I know it’s not the ideal solution, but it’s the one we have.” 

Damian sniffled again, wiping his eyes on his sleeve before nodding. He didn’t like that answer. He just wanted Dick to remember. He didn’t want to hear that things would never go back to how they were. That he might not be Dick again. All that time they’d worked together, all the work building a relationship...it couldn’t just be gone. 

“Promise you won’t leave.” Damian blurted. “Promise me, Grayson.”

Dick softened. How could he? He didn’t know if he’d ever get his memory back. He didn’t know if he’d need a break after continuing to disappoint all these people. He didn’t know the future right now because honestly, every second had him on edge. How could he tell this kid that he’d never go. It didn’t even sound like he stayed around much when he did know all of them. 

“I can promise that I won’t leave without giving you time to prepare.” He offered. “I won’t vanish. I won’t just bail on you. Is that fair?”

Damian considered it, his green eyes narrowing as he mulled over the compromise Dick had given. Logically he knew Dick wouldn’t stay in the manor forever. He was a grown man who wanted his own life. That wasn’t going to change just because he didn’t remember what life he wanted. Maybe he’d want knew things. Maybe he’d remember and marry Gordon. But every time Dick left, Damian felt like he was being left behind. And now, if he didn’t remember their bond, why would he ever come back? 

“And you’ll visit. If you leave?” Damian asked. 

“I will. I can promise that.” Dick responded, no hesitation. 

“Very well. This is an acceptable agreement.” Damian held out his hand. 

Dick laughed, taking Damian’s hand in his and offering it a firm shake. That could be enough for now. A promise to continue to try. A promise to not let the lost pass mean there would be no future. They could both live with that. 

“When you are finished with your soup, I will introduce you to Alfred.” 

Dick made a confused face. “I’ve met Alfred…” 

“Tt- You have met the man Pennyworth. You will meet my cat. Alfred.” 

“Got it.” 

Damian resumed his seat next to Dick, moving the chair closer than it had been, just in case Grayson needed help. Dick didn’t seem to mind and went back to eating the lunch provided for him. Before Damian could ask, Alfred appeared from the blue with a bowl of soup and a sandwich same as he’d made for Dick, setting it in front of the boy. 

They sat together, eating lunch in relative silence, save the occasional slurp followed by giggling at the noise. The more time he spent with each of them, the easier it was to feel like he belonged here. The more willing he was to start working on remembering who they were to him and not just hear who he was to them. He felt lighter than he had in months. 

“I’m finished.” Damian blurted out. “Hurry up, Grayson.” 

Dick laughed, shaking his head. “I’m done. I’m done.” 

He got out of his chair to clear the dishes from the table, and like he’d been waiting in the wings for a cue, Alfred appeared again and batted Dick’s hands away from the plates. Dick stepped back, surprised but obliged the man’s request to take it from here. He managed to mutter a thank you before Damian pulled him off and out of the room. 

Up the stairs and down the long hallway before stopping at an open door, Damian peeked into the room. Another bedroom, which Dick could only assume belonged to the boy because he pushed his way in with little ceremony. 

On the bed, large black sleeping Great Dane. On the pillow a small black and white cat, also sleeping. 

“Excellent. They are both here.” Damian said, flopping on the bed. 

He scooped up the cat who jostled awake but made no sound, only glowered in acceptance of the manhandling. The dog didn’t move, just huffed and rolled over on his side so Damian was no longer sitting on him. 

“Look, Alfred, Grayson has returned.” He practically shoved the cat at Dick.

Dick laughed, reaching out and stroking the cat behind the ear and was rewarded with a gentle purring. He moved over, to sit on the other side of Damian, careful to not disrupt the dog’s new position. 

“Nice to meet you.. Well, see you again, Alfred.” He said to the cat. 

“And this is Titus. Father brought him for me when he returned.” 

Dick nodded, scratching the sleeping Dane behind the ear. 

“A good name for a good dog.” Dick affirmed. 

Damian nodded at that. He was satisfied now. Seeing Dick hadn’t been as bad as they’d all told him it would be, even if it hurts to see the empty eyes that looked back at him. What mattered was that he was still warm, even to the strangers that now inhabited his life. Warmth was all Damian had ever needed.


	7. History Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce

It had been 5 months, 3 weeks and 2 days since Nightwing had been shot in the head on the rooftop of the GCPD building but for Bruce it felt like yesterday. He’d spent the first few days hunting down the shooter, leading him to KGBeast. And while Dick struggled to recover he’d dealt with his own personal series of tragedies. Now, after all that, his eldest was home struggling to find a place among them. 

He found Dick in his room, sitting on the bed and looking through photo albums that had been packed away in drawers. His chest tightened, remembering years ago as a smaller version of this man sitting in the same spot, clinging to a stuffed elephant and a single photo of his parents. He’d come here with almost nothing of his own, nine years old and alone in the world with a tearstained face and eyes puffy and reddened from the emotional night. All these years later, Dick felt just as alone. 

“So, I hear you’ve met everyone…” Bruce cleared his throat before he spoke.

Dick looked up at Bruce standing in the door frame and gave a quick nod. He closed the album in his hands but Bruce motioned for him not to, before coming into the room and taking the desk chair to sit in. He didn’t want to push or invade Dick’s space too much. 

“Yeah. They’re all great. You…” He swallowed. “You have a really great family.” 

Bruce nodded. “We, have a great family. They’re your family too. Even if you don’t remember that now.”

Dick’s lower lip quivered just slightly, but he covered it by biting his lip to push back the feelings. Something he’d seen Dick do many times in the field in those early years as Robin. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of Batman, not in front of the villains because then they’d think he was weak. So he bit back the pain and would cover it with a joke, usually a pun.

“I’m sure now that you’ve spoken to all of them, you have a million questions. Probably more. So… I’m here to answer anything you want to ask. Or not. We don’t have to talk about any of it either.” Bruce offered. 

“I don’t want to let them down.” Dick whispered. 

Bruce felt that like a punch. He was trying to avoid giving too much weight to the memories he’d lost. They’d worked very hard to make it clear that if he didn’t remember that it wasn’t going to be the end of the world. 

“You won’t let me or them down, do you understand?” Bruce said.

He wanted to put his hand on Dick’s back, to offer comfort the way he had when he was a boy. But he didn’t know if that would actually help or just make him uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how to navigate this new world.

It was like the mourning 9 year old had grown up physically but was in the exact same mental place. 

“I keep telling them, I might never remember. And I can’t even imagine how hard that is on all of you,” Dick choked. “I’m just sorry! I’m sorry I don’t know you, any of you.” 

“Dick, no one blames you.” 

He blamed himself. He was at fault for Dick’s condition. If he hadn’t started this, if he hadn’t allowed Robin to exist there would be no Nightwing to take a bullet in the head. There would be no months of physical therapy or memory loss. Dick would be normal, he’d have a normal life. He probably would have stayed in school and really made himself a life. But he was here, stuck in this life Bruce had given him with all the damage it caused. He had countless scars, a damaged knee that would ache when it got too cold or it rained for too long, and now this permanent scar on his head that reminded him every day that Dick lost part of his brain for this. 

He tried not to think of the lives that the boys could have lead. How Dick could have gone to the olympics in gymnastics if a bullet hadn’t shattered his knee cap. Sure he could do the tricks in costume, but sometimes he needed a brace and it’d never be competition level. He could have gotten a degree, had a real job. He could have run the company or done any number of careers, if he hadn’t felt he’d gotten a better education in a cape. Maybe he’d have found the stability he simultaneously feared and craved, married Barbara, started a family of his own...if it weren’t for the fear of the nightly duties catching up to them. 

Had his crusade wasted their potential?

“I just feel like I’m going to be stuck like this forever.” Dick lamented.

Bruce shook his head. No. He wouldn’t be. He couldn’t be. No matter what it took, Bruce would make sure Dick could at least feel safe again. That this place would be home, not a house full of strangers. He could be determined on that. Maybe he wouldn’t remember everything, but he’d help him get the important parts back. 

“Let’s try something, are you willing to try something?” Bruce asked cautiously.

Dick nodded. 

Bruce took the photo album, closing it up and putting it aside. Too many faces in there, too much content to overload him with. They needed to start smaller, on a less imposing scale. Don’t try to remember it all at once. Let it come in pieces. 

“Let’s start with what you know because we’ve told you.” Bruce instructed. “What do you remember from that? New memories.” 

Dick furrowed his brow and thought through the last few weeks. What he’d learned of all these people. 

“You and Alfred took me in after my parents died. And then it was the three of us. Then Jason came. Then Tim. I dated Barbara for awhile. Last to come was Damian. And that is the family you’ve built for yourself, for.. Us.” 

Bruce nodded. “Good. That’s all right.” 

“And you’re Batman. I was Robin, then Jason, then Tim. Now Damian. I go by… something. I don’t remember.” 

Bruce inhaled. That’s okay. It was tangible. Not everything was a home run yet. That was the point of this. 

“Good, we can worry about the names later.” Bruce encouraged. 

Dick nodded, still feeling like he’d done it wrong. But he continued to think anyway. He considered the information he’d been given. The faces of these people he met. It all still felt hazy and trying to remember their names was hard enough. 

“That’s it…” Dick admitted. “It’s still all jumbled up here.”

That was enough to work with, as far as Bruce was concerned. He could handle that as a starting point. 

“What do you know you remember, from before you woke up?”

Dick softened, the way he always had when he thought of his circus days. He’d always been able to look back on his past with fondness and joy even if it ended in tragedy. Bruce had always admired that about Dick. He didn’t dwell in pain, he used it to fuel him and make him better. He could keep his parents’ memory separate from their sad ending. 

“I remember my parents. I remember performing at Haly’s and how magical they were when they were up there.” Dick smiled he spoke. “My mom was beautiful and graceful. My dad was strong and agile. I was always so excited when I got to perform with them.” 

Bruce listened. He realized he never really had before. He’d never just let Dick talk about his parents, about his life before him. Maybe he should have done that more and given him more of a chance to truly grieve. Maybe that was part of him being trapped in memories from being 9 with nothing in nearly two decades since. 

“We came to Gotham to do the big show. We did that every year.” He paused. “It was my first show performing here. I was thrilled to show off. There were so many lights and it was the biggest turn out I’d ever seen. We went all out for the big city shows. And then…”

Dick paused, looking down at the blanket on the bed. Bruce tensed. He wasn’t sure if they should stop now. He decided to let Dick continue, maybe get the chance to talk it out that he didn’t truly have a boy. 

“They fell. The rope snapped and they were gone before I got a chance to move. Even if I had I was… I wouldn’t have been able to catch them.” Dick sighed. 

“No one expected you to.” Bruce assured. “I was there that night, there was nothing you could have done, Dick.” 

After a silent moment, Dick looked up at him with the same sadness he’d seen in the circus tent. It broke his heart all over again. 

“You’re the Bat.” Dick said. 

“Batman? Yes, if you need—”

“No..in my dream..” Dick swallowed, his throat felt thick again. “I had a dream. I was at the circus and my parents fell, like the night they died… and this time, the platform collapsed and I fell too. I tried to hold on, but it toppled over and I...landed on a giant bat. The tent was collapsing but I was safe, on the back of this bat…” 

Bruce listened, watching Dick recount the dream. It was the first he’d heard of any recognition or acknowledgment of dreams Dick might have had while comatose. He hoped that was a good sign. 

“Then something attacked the bat… I couldn’t see it, but it had claws and feathers, and I fell again…” He sighed. “And then nothing, and I was awake.” 

“I’m the Bat,” Bruce repeated. 

Dick nodded, looking down as he digested that information like it was connecting some puzzle pieces back together. 

“Because you’re Batman… is that why you took me in?” 

Bruce swallowed. “No, being Robin was all your idea. I actually started out against it. But when you wanted to avenge your parents death, well, I couldn’t really stop you.”

“Because that’s why you became Batman…” Dick whispered.

Bruce was about to say exactly that but Dick beat him to it. It had been a long time since he felt the warmth in his chest like this. Maybe when Selina had finally accepted his proposal but she had left him. Dick had remembered this information on his own, and the doctor had been very specific about treating progress gently rather than celebrating, as to not set expectations. But he really, really wanted to celebrate. 

“I… I remember that…” He lifted his head. “You took me in when my parents died because you also had been through that. And… that’s why you gave in and let me be Robin.”

“You remembered that. All on your own,” Bruce said. “See? You’ll get there yet.” 

Dick’s eyes filled with tears, even though Bruce wasn’t supposed to celebrate the memory he grabbed Dick, pulling him into a hug. Dick didn’t tense, not the way he had before, with the others. He needed this embrace because for the first time since coming here he’d felt a connection. 

_“You have a home here, chum. As long as you need it.”_

_Bruce sat on the bed next to the boy he’d just brought home. His new ward Dick Grayson. The kid was not much older than he’d been when his parents died in that alley, sitting here now orphaned by violence just as Bruce had been._

_Dick stared at the stuffed elephant he’d been clinging too since social services brought it to him, sitting in a chair at the GCPD in clothes they’d wrangled from the circus workers. He’d changed from his bloody uniform and been cleaned up before Bruce even arrived to get him._

_“I’m all alone now.” He whispered._

_Bruce put his hand on the boys back._

_“You’re not alone. You have me and you have Alfred. I’ll make sure you’re never alone.”_

As Bruce held Dick against him, he hoped that he’d kept that promise.

End part 1


	8. Delirium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set backs

As snow started to fall, and the temperature in Gotham hung in the low teens, strings of lights decorated lamp posts with garlands and wreaths on every door, Dick was starting to feel normal again. Or as close to as possible. His hair was growing back in, and he was keeping it shaved on the sides, it wasn’t going to grow back at the scar. He’d gained weight and was training with Tim and Damian again. Their desire to help Dick had eased some of the tension between them.

Memories were coming back pieces at a time. He remembered easy things, like relationships: he knew now the connections he had with Bruce, Alfred, Jason, Tim, Barbara and Damian. Other people were still a work in progress. He knew some of the Titans: Roy, Wally and Donna, a handful of Leaguers. Clark hovered as soon as Bruce had let him, checking in on Dick often until there was recognition. He knew secret IDs and his life in a mask. 

But history was still hazy. He was missing moments, more than anything else, parts of his past that created his present. He knew the players but rarely the game. As much as he wanted to remember there was continued struggle to connect those parts. Overall, he was doing much better, seemed happier, and sounded like the Dick they knew. 

While Dick was stronger now he wasn’t field ready. He had one of his breakthroughs in memory looking at his bloody suit and had been avoiding the case ever since. It hadn’t kept him from the cave, in fact, he was getting so antsy that Bruce sat him in front of the Bat Computer to run ops for them while they patrolled.

“You can be a less effective Oracle,” Barbara teased. 

“Your support continues to be the wind beneath my wings, Babs.” He retorted, settingling in the chair. “And to think, I could have never remembered you…” 

“Stop.” She shoved him playfully, 

His recovery had helped their relationship. Not only had she been there every day in the hospital, but she visited often in the rehab facility, and once he was settled in the manor. She was determined to be someone in his life even if that meant starting from scratch. At least this time they could skip the awkward teen flirting and have only slightly less awkward adult flirting. 

She’d never forget the moment he looked at her with unadulterated recognition. He’d opened the door to the manor, made direct eye contact with those disarming blue eyes, grabbed her by the hand and pulled her in for the deepest kisses she’d ever experienced. She’d dipped slightly in his arms and managed to cling to him with her own arms snaking around his neck as she returned his enthusiasm. They picked up from that moment exactly where they’d left off in Bruce and Selina’s forgotten honeymoon suite. 

In any recovery process, setbacks were to be expected. That didn’t mean that they were welcome. 

Babs had panicked when she didn’t get a return back from the com call to Birdwatcher - the code name he’d used for Spyral - but tried not to think anything of it. Maybe he’d needed a bathroom break or had gone to get some food. Maybe he was antsy at the mostly quiet night and decided to do a light work out as he worked to regain his muscle mass. 

When fifteen minutes later Batman also got no answer, it was clear something was wrong. He’d sent her back with instructions to check in as soon as she arrived and assessed the situation. She was already on her way before Batman had given the order. It was the longest ride to the cave she could remember, her heart hammering the entire way undecided if it planned to escape through her throat or her chest. 

She saw him before she even left her bike, and it fell as she leapt from it, barely giving time for the brakes to halt it’s momentum. She was running faster than she ever had to the quivering heap on the floor of the cave. Alfred was on his way down the stairs but she hadn’t even noticed the sound of clattering when the tray he was carrying of tea and sandwiches hit the rocks as it fell from his arms. 

“Alfred, he’s seizing.” Babs called. 

Dick was convulsing on the ground inches from the chair, his eyes rolled back in his head so she could only see the whites. She wanted to grab him but Alfred had pulled her away, insisting they had to let him ride it out or risk injury. He did move Dick to his side and further from the chair so he didn’t thrash too close and hurt himself. 

Alfred had her back away from Dick, and she turned away unable to watch as he moved on the ground powerless to stop himself. He held her the whole time, keeping his gaze on Dick but also on his watch. They’d been warned of seizures when Dick returned home and so far they’d only had two incidents. It had been when he’d first returned and he’d progressed so far that the family had let their guard down. 

When Dick stopped moving, Alfred let Barbara go to return to the man’s side. She did, promptly bending down to check his airway and pulse, examining the unconscious man for injuries, mostly to his head. She didn’t hear the engine of the Batmobile pulling into the cave. She barely noticed the flourish of cape as Dick was scooped up and away from her care. 

“Don’t worry, Gordon,” Damian put his hand on her shoulder. “Father is here now.” 

Dick woke with a groan. He was tucked into his bed, settled neatly against his pillows. His mouth was dry and he felt like he hadn’t slept in months, despite having just woken up. He could hear the familiar beeps from a monitor he’d gotten all too comfortable with when he was in the hospital. Blinking slowly, he opened his eyes, squinting against even the low lighting that seemed to set off the jackhammer crew in his head. 

Beside him, Babs rested in a chair, bent over and laying on the side of the bed, her hand in his. She was still in her Batgirl uniform. 

“Hey…” He whispered. 

She shot up quickly, blinking away sleep before relaxing and giving him a tired smile for his trouble. 

“Hey, good…” She looked at the clock by his bed. “Early morning.” 

He replied with another groan as he moved himself to sit up. He hated feeling like he was back in the hospital and the monitor combined with laying flat on his back were not helping that. Babs moved to help him up, just in case he was unsteady -they were warned he could be unsteady after a seizure. 

“What happened?” He rubbed rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke. 

“Seizure.” Babs responded. “How do you feel?” 

Dick made a face, wrinkling his nose and furrowing his brow with annoyance. 

“I thought we were done with those.” 

Babs watched him as he removed the electrodes from under his shirt and grumbled about the overcautious nature of monitoring after the seizure. She didn’t know how to comfort him, just that she understood the frustration of people taking things too far when dealing with a person in recovery. He stumbled slightly, just enough to make her lift from her seat, but caught himself and she resumed her sitting before he noticed. When he was steady, she stood again to follow him out of his room. 

“You know what he’s going to say. These setbacks mean I’m not ready.” Dick huffed. 

“He’s right.You aren’t ready.” 

Dick stopped pulling on his sweatshirt and stood in the wallway, staring at her like he’d just been slapped across the face. 

“Et tu, Babs?” 

She sighed. “I’m not picking sides. I’m looking at the facts. If you’re still having seizures you can’t, you shouldn't be out there.” 

His shoulders slumped in defeat. It made her chest ache.

Babs approached and wrapped her arm in his, resting her chin on his shoulder. He sighed again, resting his cheek against the top of her head. He knew she was right but that didn’t mean he had to like it. 

“It’s okay to feel frustrated.” She said softly. “But I’m not going to let you hurt yourself, or do something that will make things worse.” 

“I just…” He started, but stopped. 

“You’re restless. Of anyone in this family, I get it. We’ll just find new ways to channel that energy. Until you’re ready.” 

He nodded, giving up the fight and turning her to face him. He leaned in, kissing her gently before bringing her closer to him for a hug. She returned it, wrapping her arms around his trunk and resting her head against him. She never realized she missed Dick’s hugs until she had one again. She never really relied on other people for safety but with him, it felt like that: something safe, warm and a brief respite from the stress in their lives. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Babs.” 

She laughed softly. 

“I mean it. You’ve been with me through all of this even when you were literally a stranger. The emotional strength that must have taken for you…” He looked down slightly. “It means a lot. And it’s helped more than I can ever express. So thank you, really.” 

“You aren’t about to propose are you?” She broke the hug slightly. 

He laughed. “God, no. I’m just saying thank you.”

She nodded, taking his hand as she broke the embrace and leading him toward the stairs. Part of her wondered if he’d asked, would she have said yes this time? It was twice in a short time that she’d almost lost him. The first time she’d thought he was dead, and while that lie still stung, she’d forgiven him. Now, he’d faced death again not just physically but of the man she knew but fought his way back. Not just to her but to this family and she’d been part of that. 

“Let’s get food in you.” She headed down the grand stairs. 

“Oh good, I’m starving.” 

Alfred was already awake, the scent of coffee hung coated the air, mixed with a whiff of bacon, eggs and melting cheese and accented by toasting bread. Babs was sure he never slept. 

“Master Dick, Miss Gordon.” He greeted. “I’m preparing egg sandwiches should you be interested.” 

Dick moved quickly for the coffee, grabbing two mugs and filling them. He noted that Alfred was eyeing him in case he needed to step in and aid the young man. He managed the pour and returned the carafe to it’s heated seat. 

“Morning,” Dick smiled. “Thanks for making coffee. And breakfast.” 

Alfred nodded. “How are you feeling?” 

He knew Alfred meant after landing on the cold cave floor and convulsing. He absently  
dumped sugar into the mugs, and was surprised when he turned for the fridge to have Alfred  
hand him cream. 

“I’m fine. Groggy mostly. Sore. But fine.” 

Alfred accepted that, letting Dick return to the coffees. Once he was done, he returned  
the cream and sat with Barbara at the table, handing over a mug. She took it, cupping it in both hands and sighing contently at the warmth. 

“Thank you. For… both being there yesterday.” Dick said softly, then sipped his coffee.  
“Sorry if I freaked you out.” 

Alfred turned, before Babs could speak. He walked briskly to the table before putting  
both hands on Dick’s shoulders. 

“Do not apologize. You’re still recovering and you have nothing to be sorry for. It is nothing short of a miracle that you survived, that your memories have returned and that you’re here with us. Never, ever feel ashamed for needing help or care. Do you understand?”

Dick nodded, trying to fight the wetness welling in his eyes and the sting in his nose. He wasn’t going to cry. He was going to be cool. 

“Alright,” He sniffed. “You said something about breakfast?”


	9. Broken Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mourning

In a small graveyard near Seattle was a lone headstone under the shade of a large tree. Standing beside it was a single shadow frame holding an umbrella against the cold rain of the Washington climate. Jason tensed, as he approached not sure who to expect standing there. The frame was too broad to be Dinah and too short to be Oliver, not that Oliver would show up. Donna had just been here, not that Jason was monitoring who visited his best friend’s grave, but she wouldn’t be do back here for at least a few more days. As he reached the top of the hill and noted a familiar leather coat, he felt that stupid pit in his stomach again. 

Looking over the headstone with the name Roy Harper etched over a red arrow was Dick Grayson. He hadn’t seen Dick since he broke in through the window, not really sure why he hadn’t come back now that he stared at his brother’s tear soaked face, hung somber in mourning. His hair was grown out more on the top and hung in his face, the sides still shaved which Jason liked, because fuck Bruce. He hoped Bruce stared at that scar on Dick’s head every day and remembered this was his fault. 

Jason always forgot that Dick knew Roy first. 

“Hey…” The greeting was tentative. 

Dick turned slightly, then nodded. “Hey” 

“I… wasn’t there.” Jason started. “I couldn’t have saved...” 

Dick shook his head dismissing Jason’s apologies. It wasn’t Jason’s fault. He knew Jason hadn’t been there. He’d been filled in at his reunion with the Titans about Roy’s death at Wally’s hands. He couldn’t bring himself to talk to Wally, not yet. He’d barely managed to get up this hill to see Roy. 

“I wasn’t either. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t mine.” Dick sniffed. “It’s just how this life is sometimes. You get hurt or maimed or killed. Sometimes we get lucky and survive. Sometimes we don’t.”

Jason could tell Dick was different than the last time they spoke. He was focused and sounded aware. Which meant he remembered. Part of him hoped that the brief moment they’d shared in Dick’s room, the heart to heart, the moment of vulnerability would still matter now, even with the baggage. He hated that he hoped his brother would still want to mend the fence. He hated that he hoped. 

Dick turned to face him, and Jason took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” He said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to mourn with you. I know how close you were even if you didn’t--” 

Dick stopped talking when Jason hugged him, he dropped the umbrella to return the hug, wrapping his arms around the taller man. They held the embrace for several minutes with rain falling and Dick pretending not to notice and Jason’s body started to shake with emotions. He figured his brother hadn’t had anyone to let it out to. Jason always had been a loner. 

“Roy and I had a complicated friendship, but I know that he really, really cared about you. And this... fucking sucks.” 

Jason laughed wetly, stepping back to wipe his face. 

“Yeah... it does.” 

Dick nodded, picking the umbrella back up and using it’s large expanse to shield them both from the rain. Jason didn’t much care since he was already wet, but he appreciated the gesture and would take it. Brokering peace. 

“It’s a good spot.” Dick offered, referring to the grave site.

“Yeah… I figured he’d like it.” Jason replied. “Looking down on all these hipsters and judging them for all eternity.” 

“He definitely would. Hope you choke on your vape, loser.” Dick laughed.

Jason snorted. “Like he’s one to talk. He was single handedly keeping Von Dutch in business.” 

Dick howled. The kind of laughter Jason hadn’t heard in a long time. Partly because Dick had been damaged, and clueless from his injury, and partly because they so rarely shared a laugh. Things had always been tense between them despite the many times one of them would try to ease it, they inevitably ended up back at contention. But they needed to end that cycle and they were going to try. He needed to try. 

For Roy. 

“I’m gonna miss him.” Dick sobered. “I’m going to miss them both.” 

“I mean, Tim has it in good with Super Boy.” Jason shrugged. “Maybe he can punch time and rewrite everything again.” 

Dick rolled his eyes and ruffled Jason’s hair. 

“Sure thing, Lil Wing. Let’s get right on that request.” 

The rain picked up forcing the eldest Wayne boys to seek shelter. Dick had rented a car so Jason hid his motorcycle under a bridge to shield it from the rain, and bummed a ride to a nearby diner. Once inside, the schucked their wet coats at the rack by the door before a stereotype of a Diner Waitress sat them in a back window booth. Once settled in his seat, Dick picked up the menu as a teen boy scurried over nearly spilling the two glasses of water he shoved onto the table. 

“Order whatever you want.” Dick offered. “On me.” 

Jason raised a brow. “On you? You mean on Bruce.” 

“Isn’t that more of a reason to take advantage?” 

Jason shrugged as he picked up the menu in front of him. He glanced over it, standard diner fare with some absurdly decadent pancake selections to keep up with larger chains like iHop, and FAMOUS OMELETTES caught his eye. He glanced up only slightly to watch Dick look at the menu, popping his head to the music playing in the restaurant. 

“So it’s all back, just like that?” Jason asked. 

Dick looked over the top of the menu. He shrugged, rolling his eyes as he did. Jason sensed it was more complicated.

“It’s not… all back. There’s still hazy patches. I don’t remember that night at all. The few days before it are also spotty. But the deep stuff, family, friends, who I am… that’s more-or-less back.” 

Jason raised a brow. “More or less?”

“Well, it’s still a work in progress. I still have symptoms. It’s less memory stuff and more physical stuff.” 

That made sense. That’s why the streets weren’t buzzing about the return of the black and blue. He was still grounded. That had to be killing him. If he knew anything about Dick he knew the guy hated being still, or rooted or anywhere for too long of a time. 

“It’ll come. I’m sure Brucey Bruce has the training montages going night after night complete with Kenny Loggins backing track.” 

“He’s being cautious with me. Which is fair. But I still hate it.” Dick huffed. 

The conversation lulled as the waitress approached to take their order, a disgusting display of Alfred’s-Not-Here-To-Judge-Us specialty pancakes were ordered covered in chocolate and oreos and marshmallow goo. When the waitress left to alert the kitchen of the double sugar rush, Dick folded his menu and put it in it’s holster behind the ketchup and eyed Jason. 

Jason could feel the stare so he folded his own menu, then looked up meeting his brother’s gaze. This is the moment he’d known was coming, because Dick remembered things now. 

“Here it comes…” He muttered into his coffee. 

“I just… want to know why?” Dick said, softly. “Something had to have been important enough for you to act. And I’m sure he never gave you the courtesy of explaining yourself.” 

Jason stared at Dick and for a moment, Dick was sure he’d walk out of this diner and not look back. He hoped his tone was gentle enough to encourage real conversation about the situation, rather than anger. He hoped Jason knew he was trying. He was asking for his real feelings and perspective and justification for his actions. Jason had two choices: be open to him or drop it. 

“My dad...was a piece of shit.” Jason started. “But he I found out recently he wasn’t as big of a piece of shit as I thought he was.” 

Dick said nothing, his face softening the younger man spoke. 

“That..slimy freak hired my dad to work for him and made him the fall guy. And that… kept him from me. From a better life. From helping my mom.” 

“You wanted the same vengeance.” Dick said. “Just like Bruce. Just like me.” 

Jason shook his head, leaning forward in the seat. The anger in his eyes he hoped would mask the quiver in his voice. His voice was more strained when he spoke again. 

“No, Dick. I wanted revenge. Because unlike you and unlike Bruce… I wasn’t going to throw that asshole in Blackgate just to have him stroll out later, uneffected and unpunished to kill some other hapless fuck with a kid at home. He preys on people, on weak vulnerable people with bills to pay that the system has stacked the deck against. And the people in power just let him get away with it, time after time. People like him, people like Tony Zucco…” 

Even now, after all these years, that name made Dick wince. 

“It’s enough. So I broke my promise because Cobblepot didn’t deserve for me to keep it.”

Silence hung between them for several minutes. The waitress returned with their towering breakfast monstrosities covered in melted chocolate and dripping chunks of Oreo cookies down the lip of each pancake layer. If it had been a less tense moment, Jason might have joked about the white, sticky marshmallow being something else, but it didn’t come to him in this heavy air around them. 

Dick finally took in a deep breath, shrugging before unwrapping his utensils from the napkin where they’d been rolled and locked in with a piece of glued paper. 

“Okay,” He said flatly. 

“That’s it? Okay?” Jason huffed. “You’re going to say nothing but “Okay” after I confessed my reason for attempting to murder a man?”

Dick swallowed. “We all have to deal with our baggage differently. I can’t agree with your methods. But I also can’t say I haven’t wanted to kill or killed myself.”

“Seems… fake…” Jason narrowed his eyes.

Dick took a bite of his pancakes and said nothing. He needed a second. How to phrase what he wanted to convey wasn’t coming easily to him. He needed to find the exact wording for this to be productive for them. 

“Look,” Dick swallowed. “Lecturing you and expecting you to do things how I do them, or how he does them… it’s not been of any use in the past. I’m not perfect and I can’t expect you to be. And I can’t tell you how to live your life or how to do mourn your losses or how to handle your needs. I can’t speak for him, or anyone else in this family but I’m done making you an enemy. If you need my help, I’ll be here. If you don’t want my help, I won’t fight you. If we’re going to be better to each other the first step is being willing to accept each other for our differences no matter how frustrating they might be.” 

Jason wanted to be mad. He wanted to yell at Dick but for what? Fly off the handle because he was being reasonable? He wasn’t mad that Dick was offering the olive branch, he was mad that it had taken so long for both of them to even rip it from the tree in the first place. 

“Alright. Then I will try to be less of an ass and admit when I need help. You sure you want to be willing to do that? It’ll piss off Mother Bat?” Jason accented his comment by shoving a mouthful of pancakes in his mouth. 

“That’s not my problem,” Dick said simply. “His issue with you is exactly that: his issue.” 

“Huh…” Jason smirked. “I think I like this new Dickiebird.”


	10. Where I belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconciliation

The only person in the entire manor that could get Ace the Bathound to be anything but a stoic and regal guard dog at Bruce’s side, was Dick Grayson. It was never more noticeable than at 11:30 at night when everyone was on patrol and Tim was deeply immersed in studying for finals. The sound of his brother and the mutt barreling down the stairs like a stampede through the house was immensely distracting. He’d thought the kitchen would be a safe space since Dick should have been downstairs on Birdwatcher duty, and yet, there he was on his back laughing as he wrestled with Ace for a chew toy. His shirt was at least dusting the floor. 

Finally, Dick caved, letting go of the toy so that Ace could run off with it. He stood up, pulling his shirt down and catching his breath before sauntering into the kitchen. He noted Tim, head down typing furiously on his laptop, only looking away to gaze at brightly highlighted paragraphs in books and returning to the clacking of keys. 

Grabbing a soda from the fridge, Dick flopped in the chair next to Tim and put his hand on the back of the laptop screen, before ever so slightly pushing it forward so it would close on Tim’s hands on the keyboard. 

“Stop!” Tim laughed. “Why are you like this?” 

Dick grinned. “All work and no play make Timmy, something something…”

Tim rolled his eyes and pushed the screen back upright. Dick reluctantly moved his hand and cracked open the soda can before looking at the on the table. He grabbed it by the corner and held it dangling in the air like a teen boy with a centerfold. 

“You know you can sell these back for money when you’re done with them if you don’t mark them all up inside…” 

“Oh gee thanks, now you tell me…” Tim rolled his eyes and snatched the book back. “Don’t you have work to be doing, Birdwatcher?” 

Dick huffed, dramatically draping himself on the table. He grabbed a highlighter and started to twirl it around in his fingers. Tim already knew without needing Dick to speak that his older brother was bored. Being the ops guy wasn’t the same as jumping off rooftops and catching yourself on a swing line just at the right moment. 

“Timmy, it’s so boring.” Dick whined. 

Tim sighed. “I really gotta finish this paper for finals.” 

“Okay… but what if I ordered pizza. Then, you’d have to eat the pizza.” Dick sat up.

Tim wanted to help. He really did. Of all of them, Dick probably had the hardest time being ground support. He wasn’t a stationary guy. He also really needed to finish his paper. He felt bad blowing Dick off now, especially after all that had happened in the last year. He’d worked so hard to come back to them, was it fair for Tim just abandon him in a moment of need. 

_Calm down, Tim. It’s not like he’s bleeding out._

“Okay...if you order pizza, I’ll take a break with you but you have to let me work on my paper until it gets here, deal?” Tim reasoned. 

Dick considered, making a gesture of stroking his chin in thought before nodding in acceptance of the terms. He immediately pulled the phone from his pocket and started to order the pizza through an app.

“It’s a deal,” Dick agreed. “What are you writing anyway?” 

“It’s a final paper. The Algorithms Cannot Save You: How Facial Recognition Programs, CCTV and Two Step Authentication Reinforce False Narrative--”

Dick cut him off with an exaggerated snoring noise before dramatically dropping out of the chair. He stood up and headed for the other room. 

“Good luck, I’m going to try to man the comms for awhile before you put me to sleep.” 

Tim laughed as Dick left him to get his work completed, considering his mission fully accomplished. Maybe he should have given Dick the name of his paper sooner. 

Dick returned to the cave, jumping off the last flight and taking a double aerial somersault before landing on both feet at the base of the long staircase with his hands up and both feet firmly planted on the ground. He cheered for himself before noting that Alfred was giving him a disapproving once over.

“Oh it’s fine. It’s one flight of stairs, not the top of Wayne tower…” He rolled his eyes. “I’m never getting back out there if I don’t keep up my skills.” 

“Yes, of course, Master Dick,” Alfred said flatly. “Wouldn’t want you to recover fully, now would we?” 

“Rude.” Dick huffed. “Everyone’s a critic.” 

He sat down in the chair at the Bat Computer to settle in for aid. He could see on the map all the little dots of the family spread out through the city. Bruce in The Bowrey with Damian, where he was most nights. It was where the most activity went down. Babs had taken the East End because Bruce had a hard time venturing there since Selina no showed the wedding. Babs or Tim usually volunteered to take that patrol for him. Red Robin was offline, upstairs writing Gotham University’s Most Boring Paper. Duke was in Gotham Village while Steph, Harper and Cass seemed to be having a fine time at Dixon Docks. No one had reached out to him tonight, which only lead to him being more stir crazy. 

Despite Bruce telling him that it was no longer necessary, Dick still kept tabs on Jason. Red Hood wasn’t in Gotham, seemed to be kicking around Star City for now. That was good. It was away from Bruce and a place that Bruce would generally avoid (more to avoid Ollie than anything). 

“Has he said anything to you?” Dick asked, idly watching the screens. 

“About what, Master Dick?” Alfred responded. 

“When I can… get back out there?” 

Silence. Dick was starting to hate silence. Silence with Bruce when asking about suiting up. Silence with Jason when talking about fixing their fractured relationship. Silence from Babs when he sound a little too much like he was going to put a ring on it. Everywhere there was silence. Now Alfred was giving him the same struggle. 

“Not to me,” Alfred replied. 

_Liar._

“Well, okay then…” Dick decided not to press.

If Alfred was lying, it was probably because Dick wouldn’t like the answer. He didn’t focus on it much longer as the camera at the front door showed the very nervous looking young man with a pizza box. Swiveling the chair away from the computer, Dick got up and jogged toward the steps. 

“Saved by the pizza man…” He grinned. “Can you hold my calls?” 

Alfred shook his head, watching the younger man dart up the stairs. 

Tim had already claimed the pizza by the time Dick came out of the secret door behind the clock that lead to the cave. He could smell it from the library, letting the aroma guide him like a cartoon mouse looking for cheese before reaching the kitchen. Tim was just setting the box down on the table so Dick redirected for the cabinets to get plates. 

He returned, two plates and two sodas in hand, setting them down before joining his younger brother at the table. Filling his plate with pizza, he closed Tim’s books and gave a mischievous grin. 

“Thanks for not closing the laptop.” Tim sassed with an eye roll. 

Dick dangled pizza over his mouth before taking a large bite.

“Gooble Dogs augoshavees.” He mumbled over the food. 

“You’re so gross.” Tim laughed, taking his own bite.

The two ate in relative silence except for the occasional sound of loud chewing. It was nice to just relax. They rarely did that, even before Dick had been hurt. Tim couldn’t remember the last time they just ate pizza and hung out even if the hang out was reluctant as the paper due monday was looming over Tim’s head. He wanted to make time for Dick though. He need to cherish this time before Dick recovered and headed back to Bludhaven or off on his next adventure: New York, Chicago, back to San Francisco with the Titans. 

“So…” Dick swallowed down his last bite, reaching for another slice. “We never really talked about it, did we?” 

Tim looked confused. “About what?”

“You and me and you not being my Robin,” Dick clarified. 

Crap. Tim didn’t want to talk about this. He was trying to just forget the hurt it had caused when Dick chose Damian over him. He wanted nothing more than to pretend it never happened. Why did Dick have to go and remember that? Of all the things he could lose, it couldn’t have been the most awkward time in their whole relationship? It couldn’t have been the tension filled months while Dick over stressed himself in the cowl he didn’t want to wear trying to balance helping Damian and saving Gotham and being a young person with a life? 

“Dude, it’s history.” Tim lied. 

“False.” Dick responded. “Nothing is history. We never talked about it. So let’s do it.” 

Tim huffed. Stupid Dick and his stupid injury making him stupid and reasonable with his desire to clear the slate. Just forget this. He didn’t want to talk about feelings. 

“Stop making me feel stuff, I have to do my paper.” 

“Boring robot paper about boring robot things with no feelings.” Dick sighed. “Come on, please? Jason even let me talk to him. Jason!” 

Damn. That wasn’t fair. Dick buried the hatchet with Jason first? Now he had to do this or Jason was going to look like the more adult of the two of them. They had way more bad blood between them than Tim had ever managed. It wasn’t really bad blood, that wasn’t fair. 

“Fine. It… hurt my feelings.” Tim sighed. “I wanted to be your partner. You were my hero, I looked up to you long before I did Batman or Bruce… and then you chose the demon spawn as your Robin when I thought it would be my chance to be at your side. Really be your partner.” 

Dick listened, letting Tim say what he needed to. Without Dick saying anything, Tim continued on. 

“He came here and he was such a pain, he’s still a pain! He tried to kill me and he was the worst, mouthing off about being the blood son. He had no respect for you or my relationship with Bruce. And then you picked him and it was like you picked his side. I hadn’t really been replaced before, and I guess I finally got what you and Jason felt like. Why you two had been at odds. Why he didn’t care for me. And… it hurts.” 

Dick leaned over, wrapping his arms around Tim. 

“I never meant to hurt you, or pick a side.” He assured. “I meant to encourage you. I thought this would be your time to shine. You were older than I was when I left Robin behind and I had so much confidence in you becoming a hero on your own. You were better than being a sidekick.” 

“Yeah… but shouldn’t that have been my call?” Tim asked. 

Dick frowned. “Okay...you’re right. I did the same thing to you that I was mad at Bruce for doing to me. He decided when I was done as Robin, when it should have been my decision.” 

“Look, it’s fine now. We’re all good.” Tim lied, picking at his pizza.

“It’s not fine. I’m sorry.” Dick said. “I should have talked to you about it first. I should have explained it better at the time. My personal feelings weren’t an excuse for ignoring yours.” 

Tim wasn’t sure he’d really wanted an apology until he’d heard Dick give it. He hadn’t thought about it in years, and sure the animosity hung in the back of his head but Dick had been right. He’d thrived on his own as a solo hero, made lifelong friends and really contributed in a new way to the team Dick had built when he was Batman. He knew had never been about not wanting Tim there, or not trusting him as a side kick… they’d had enough team ups as Robin and Nightwing to know better. 

“Thank you,” Tim said. “Now we really are good. You made the right choice in the end, even if I couldn’t see it at the time. And I have to admit… Damian… is better. That was your doing.” 

“I’m glad we got that settled.” Dick smiled. “See, it wasn’t so bad.” 

“Can I finish my paper now?”

Dick laughed and tossed a used napkin at Tim in response.


	11. The Samurai Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connection

The nicest place to be in the Gotham City summer was the batcave. It was cool down there and without any direct sun, free from the heat and humidity of the New Jersey climate. Like New Yorkers, most of the city folks headed to the coasts to hit the Jersey Shore, Cape May and Atlantic City. The week was busy but the weekends were empty and crime was always up. The heat made people crazy. 

The Waynes didn’t summer like the used to. Bruce used to have to make appearances at the Shore house or even in the Hamptons but as Dick had gotten older that was less and less the case. The usually blamed the no show at the parties on the Shore as busy running his empire, but the truth was, it was harder to hide scars at a beach house than it was at a ski chalet. Part of him missed the summers in the sand, but as he’d gained his own scars, it was harder for him to plan cover stories as well. 

For now, he entertained himself with training in the dark cool caverns below the manor. Every day brought a new set of skills back. Each session with rotating partners made sure he was getting back to his best form. When the day came for him to suit up again, it’d be like he was never gone. In fighting form at Batman’s side. Or back. Or wherever. The conversation of returning to Bludhaven had not come up again: until this afternoon. 

Damian flipped forward from where he’d been standing on the railing above Dick, as silent as he possibly could be. But Dick heard him, dodging the attack with Damian’s bow staff, grabbing him by the leg and swinging him to a light drop on the mat. For his trouble, Dick got the bow staff to the stomach without warning. 

“Hey… ow! What the hell, Damian?” Dick oofed back word, his hands instinctively going to his sore abs. 

“Need to be more focused. You’re still too slow.” Damian replied. 

“That was a cheap shot. You’ve been taking cheap shots all day,” Dick replied. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to wound me.” 

He stretched with a whine at the sore spot that would probably bruise on his belly before walking off the mat to grab a bottle of water. He wiped sweat from his forehead before sucking half the bottle of water down like his first drink in the desert as Damian scampered up and ran after him in a huff. 

“What’s your deal,” Dick asked, eyeing his brother as he mimicked Dick’s actions. 

“I don’t have a deal, Grayson.” Damian snapped back. 

Dick winced. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” 

Damian recapped the water bottle he was drinking from and smacked Dick lightly with one of Dick’s own escrima sticks discarded on the bench by the waters and sweat towels. Dick yelped, yanking the stick from Damian’s hand and scowling. 

“Stop that! What is your problem?”

“tt- Nothing. You’re still too slow. I’m telling father you’re not ready.” 

Dick sighed, not sure what to say next. Whatever was eating Damian would come out eventually. Damian walked back toward the mat, satisfied with himself, and Dick grabbed his other stick from the bench. He moved slowly, quietly behind Damian, before flipping over him and landing on the mat in front of his young opponent. Before Damian could react, Dick knocked the bow staff in the air, throwing own stick up above his head to free his hand, grabbing the falling bow staff and tossing it off toward the stairs and out of the practice arena before the escrima stick landed neatly in his hand again. He dropped back into a defensive stance with a pleased smirk and eyed Damian. 

“Too slow huh? Your move, lil Wayne.” 

Damian didn’t respond how Dick had expected. Normally, the kid would take the challenge and use his skills to fight back. He’d use his smaller stature to his advantage ( though Dick hated to admit that as Damian had aged, he was edging out Dick in height) to take Dick down. But he didn’t this time. His eyes blazed furiously as he charged Dick at full speed, grabbing the sticks out of his hands and shoving him down. Dick barely had a moment to recover before Damian pounced on him, holding a stick to his throat. 

“Now who is too slow?” Damian snarled. 

Dick grunted, grabbing the stick and then rolling over, not as gently as he could have as a little part of him wanted to crush Damian under his weight. The boy yelped with the roll and scurried out from under his brother before standing up right. Dick stayed down, panting, propping his knees up and resting his arms on them. 

“Alright. Tell me what’s going on right now?” Dick barked. 

“I told you, nothing.” Damian responded. “You’re too slow and that was your fault.” 

Dick shook his head. He was trying to push back anger because yelling at Damian had never been his preferred method of communication, nor was it the most effective. But he really had to work at a calm town this time. 

“Damian,” Dick sighed. “You were way too aggressive for sparing just now. So tell me what that was about right now, or I’m done here and going upstairs.” 

“I…” Damian started but stopped with a huff. 

The boy flopped down on the mat across from Dick looking mournful, his eyes cast downward as he gathered his thoughts. Dick relaxed some, coming down from the anger and finally having caught his breath.

“I’m not ready for you to leave again,” Damian admitted. “I know that’s stupid but if you are cleared for duty, you’re going to leave.” 

Dick frowned. They’d discussed this before, back before he remembered. He might not stay, he couldn’t promise to stay living in the manor forever. On the other hand, he was feeling more rooted than he ever had before. He finally felt like he belonged somewhere, like this was a place he wanted to be and could see himself hanging around indefinitely. If not the manor, he could always go back to the penthouse. Sure, he was needed in Bludhaven but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t take it up in his absence. Or take over entirely. Everything was still in the air, because as far as he knew, he wasn’t ready yet. Not to Bruce anyway. 

“Listen, even if I put that suit on tonight, I won’t be immediately back to Bludhaven,” Dick assured. “I might be ready to go out but not necessarily to do it on my own yet. I’m going to have to watch for seizures and tremors for awhile yet.” 

“And you shouldn’t be alone.” 

“Definitely not.” Dick scooted closer to wrap an arm around Damian. “What if I’m out Bludhaven and have a seizure fighting King Shark?”

Damian sighed, reluctantly resting against Dick. He knew that Dick couldn’t leave right away but he also knew that Dick was impulsive and was already struggling with staying home while they were out. How long until he struggled with being here at all? Before he was just ready to bail and go solo act in another city?

“I always feel better when your here.” Damian admitted. “I think I am better with father and Drake when you are here.” 

“You know,” Dick laughed. “You can do that without me? You might find that you and Tim have things in common. You might even bond if you let go of this blood son feud.” 

Damain scowled. “What would I possibly have in common with that pretender?”

“Well, you’re both nerds.” Dick said matter-of-factly. 

Damian shoved him, and Dick made a bigger show of falling over than necessary. He landed back on the mat and looked up at Damian. 

“It’s true!” He laughed. “You both like video games, and he could teach you hacking skills you’re always trying to improve.” 

“I could make him a more skilled warrior. Though, he may be hopeless, Richard.” 

Dick snorted, rolling his eyes and sitting up. He winced as he did, abs still sore from getting stabbed with the bow staff. He shook his head.

“The point is… I’d like the animosity between all of us to stop. We’re brothers. We should start acting like it. And when we’re all working together we’re an amazing team.” 

Damian listened, bouncing one of the escrima sticks off the mat and catching it. He wanted to make Dick happy because maybe if he was happy he’d stay longer. He would have to play nice with Drake because in the end, Dick was right, they were all a team. No one knew what it was like to be Robin, to hold the mantle, to be Batman’s sidekick, than the four of them. And maybe Thomas. They were brothers.

“What about you and Todd? You two fight all the time.” Damian replied. 

“We’re working on it,” Dick replied. “And if I could take back the years of fighting with Jason, I would. It wasn’t his fault that I had issues with Bruce. He deserved better from me.”

“I suppose if you and Todd can work it out, I can be nicer to Drake.” 

Dick grinned. “That’s the spirit.” 

Damian stood up and took the sticks back to their place with Dick’s gear. He looked up at the case holding the uniform, still blood stained from the wound that took Dick from them for all those months. He’d remembered sitting in the room with his older brother while he was lost to them, waiting for him to wake, hoping he’d be there when he did. He remembered being kept away from Dick when they realized he didn’t know them. How he’d felt when father told him that Dick had been hurt and it didn’t look promising. 

“I can only think of two times I’d seen my father cry.” Damian said. 

Dick got up with a groan, his muscles still adapting to the excursion of intense training after almost a year of light physical therapy and endurance training. He was definitely not getting younger. He padded over to his brother, trying not to limp as his old knee injury started to remind him of the other time a bullet nearly ended his career. 

“He cried when I came back... “ Damian continued. “He held me in his arms and he cried. I wasn’t sure if I thought that was weakness. But I finally understood that he cared about me. That he loved me.” 

“He does, you’re right. He drove himself insane trying to bring you back.” 

Damian nodded, tears starting to form in his eyes.

“And he cried waiting for you. He wasn’t there long, just long enough to hear you were alive. He paced for hours in the waiting room and we were all there. Finally, after so long of hearing nothing he sat down on a chair and he looked strange. He was too big for those chairs. And he cried.” 

Dick swallowed, pulling Damian in against him in a hug. 

“We’re all complicated. Your dad more than any of us. But our complications work together and we’re a family.” 

Damian wrapped his arms around Dick, returning the hug. He nestled in against the familiar contact and warmth of Dick’s chest. He could hear Dick breathing, the steady flow of air in and out of his lungs. He counted the rhythmic sound of each beat from his heart. 

“No matter what, we’re a family, kid,” Dick said, his voice reverberating in his chest.

“Even Drake?” Damian looked up as he spoke. 

“Yes, Damian,” Dick laughed. “Tim is still your family. Like it or not. And one day you might have to rely on each other.” 

His younger brother shook his head. He knew exactly where Dick was going with that. He was about to say he wouldn’t be here forever, that one day he’d be gone and so would Bruce and Alfred, and that Damian might have to be closer with Tim. One day the younger of them would be the head of the family. He hoped Dick would still be around then, guiding him and helping him like he always had, maybe the way Alfred did with father, with them all. But he’d lost Dick twice now and the next time might be the actual time his brother went down and never got back up. 

“Just stop there.” Damian huffed. “Take your win, Richard.”

“Alright. I’ll take my win and stop being mushy now.” 

“Another round?”

“Not a chance.” Dick sighed. “Let’s go upstairs for awhile. I need a break.”


	12. The Future Freaks Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pep talk

The days were starting to get shorter which meant patrol started earlier. When Bruce came down to the cave, he hadn’t expected to find Dick already down there. He found Dick on the uneven bars, practicing what he knew best. He was graceful as ever, moving between bars with ease, trick after trick. Each motion, twist, jump and tuck appeared effortless. Bruce knew Dick better than anyone, and the body language told him a different story. His face was focused, his brow slightly furrowed as he worked through the routine. What looked easy to an untrained eye, knowing Dick’s years of disciplined training, was anything but to his mentor.

Dick’s vitals were higher than normal, especially during activity. He wasn’t completely recovered, not yet. He watched him swing down from the bar, let go and half turn before a full tucked double front flip and a landing on the ground. He didn’t nail the dismount, his ankle rolling slightly before he caught himself and he stepped forward on the mat. 

“Shit..” He dropped his arms before walking off the mat to get his water bottle. 

“You’ll get it. That’s a difficult move for everyone at the professional athletic level.” Bruce encouraged. “Men don’t even do uneven bars, so that fact that you’re doing it…”

“You don’t mean to sound sexist, but you’re sounding sexist.” Dick responded. 

He didn’t turn right away, he punctuated his comment with squirting water into his mouth before turning to Bruce with the sweat towel over his head like a tent. He whimpered before walking off the slight pain in his ankle from the roll. 

“Take a break, ice your ankle.” Bruce instructed. 

“I’m fine, I don’t need a break.” Dick snapped back. 

Instead of icing his ankle, Dick pulled on gloves for the heavy bag. He velcroed the second glove on with his teeth, not even asking Bruce to help him glove up. To say he took out aggression on that bag was an understatement. It did not go unnoticed that Dick wasn’t pulling punches. If the bag had been a person, an opponent on the streets of Gotham, Bruce would have been pulling him off by now. The guy would be down and likely unconscious. 

“Dick,” Bruce said. 

The younger man ignored him, grunting as he threw another punch at the bag. Bruce side, walking over to steady the bag so Dick didn’t knock it off the rafters. 

“Dick,” Bruce said again, more forcefully. 

Bruce moved with the bag as Dick threw a final punch before stepping back. He was panting, sweat on his forehead that he wiped away with the back of his arm. Bruce could almost feel the anger radiating off his eldest like literal heat. He didn’t stand down. 

“Enough. Take a break.” Bruce said sternly. 

“I said that I don’t need a break.” Dick barked. 

“I’m saying you do, because I don’t want to have to hang this bag back up when you tear it down.” 

Dick huffed in response, accented by a long sigh before he turned around and stomped back to the bench. He ripped the velcro on his wrist loose with his teeth, folded his arm around the boxing glove and ripping his hand free before removing the other and tossing them both aside. Bruce recognized a tantrum when he saw one. He’d been raising these kids long enough. 

“Alight, sit down. Let’s talk about what’s going on here.” Bruce instructed. 

“Nothings going on.” Dick replied. 

Bruce shook his head, coming to sit down on the bench beside where Dick was standing. 

“I’m the world’s greatest detective watching my adult son who has been stir crazy for months throw a tantrum and almost destroy my heavy bag. Something is behind it, and I want to discuss it.” 

Dick responded with a weak glare, before sitting down beside Bruce and wiping his face and neck with the sweat towel. 

“I’m frustrated. I want to be out there and you keep saying I’m not ready.” 

Bruce listened. When his mentor was silent, Dick continued speaking, picking up his water bottle as he did just to keep his hands busy.

“I’ve been rehabbing for months. I’ve been down here, doing the bars and the rings and the horse. I’ve been sparring with you and Tim and Damian. I have my memories back and I haven’t had a seizure in weeks and the shakes are even less frequent. I just want to be out there and I feel like every time you all go to suit up, the expectation is that I don’t.” 

“I don’t think you’re ready yet, Dick.” Bruce offered, softer than his normal tone.

“Why not?!” Dick argued. “I’ve done everything right! My memory’s back. I’m holding my own in sparring. I can do it.” 

Bruce sighed.

“What?!” Dick groaned. “What’s that sigh for?”

Bruce considered his options. He knew that he was being cautious with Dick. Part of that was on him. He wanted to make sure that he was in top form before getting back in the field. Injury being less than completely healed would make him vulnerable. News had spread fast about Nightwing going down, and he knew that many of those in his rogues gallery would see this as a prime opportunity to strike. As soon as word spread of Dick being back out in uniform, there was no telling who’d show up to try and catch him off his best game. 

Two-Face. The Court of Owls. Hush. 

There was no reason to believe they weren’t waiting in the wings for a vulnerable Nightwing. Coupled with Dick’s own potential limitations: the continued shakes he hand holding things for too long, how would his weapons fair? Seizures could still be a risk. What if he dropped mid fight? And what if he landed a move wrong like he’d just done off the uneven bars and it was the difference between landing on the ledge or going over it? He had to think of all these possibilities before allowing Dick back out there to risk his life every night. If he wasn’t at his best, Bruce might as well get the death certificate ready. 

He’d come too close in too short of a time to losing Dick… twice. He was still angry with himself for letting the evil version of the Justice League catch Nightwing and expose him, at Luthor for stopping his heart however briefly… even if it had ultimately saved them all, Dick included. 

And if he hadn’t been distracted by his failing relationship Dick would never have been on the GCPD rooftop to take the bullet from KGBeast. 

“I said you’re not ready. I need you out there at your best or you’re a liability to yourself and the rest of us.” Bruce said plainly. 

Dick bit his bottom lip, fighting back the urge to scream. 

“That’s your reason for saying I’m not ready?” He snapped. “I’m a liability?”

“You asked me if you ready and I said I don’t think so. You want to go out and prove me wrong than go…” 

Dick was silent. He stared at Bruce feeling some of the rage start to leave his body, the heat slowly working it’s way out. That was it? If you think you’re ready just go? It couldn’t possibly be that easy. After all these months and all these pleas for the clearance to get back in costume all it had taken was a well placed tantrum for Bruce too cave? Not a chance. There had to be more here. 

“Just like that? Suit up and go ahead?” Dick questioned.

Bruce shook his head. He took in a deep breath massaging the bridge of his nose to ease the tension headache he felt forming. Dick never made arguments difficult. 

“If you’re ready then why haven’t you gone out?” Bruce asked. “You’ve towed the line sure, but you’ve never been one to listen to anyone, especially me, telling you you can’t do something. If you were ready to be out there Dick, you would be. So why aren’t you?”

Dick hadn’t expected that question. That was a fair point. Dick could have left at any time to suit up and go out. Bruce wouldn’t have been happy about it by any means, but it wasn’t the first time he’d have done something Bruce wasn’t happy about. He swallowed, dropping to sit beside Bruce on the bench, hanging his head. 

“What if I’m different?” Dick asked.

“You will be.” Bruce said. “You were different after Two-Face, you were different after your knee injury, after Alexander Luthor, you were different after you were Batman and Agent 37. You’re going to be different with each new experience, it’s up to you to decide how to adjust to those changes.”

Dick took a deep breath. Bruce was right. He hated when Bruce was right. 

“I’m scared.” Dick admitted. 

Bruce softened, reaching over and putting his arm around Dick’s shoulders. Dick leaned into the embrace and heaved another heavy sigh. 

“It’s okay to be scared.” Bruce told him. “I’m scared every night. For me, for all of you. But if that fear guides you then you won’t be effective out there. You’ll have to channel that too.” 

“And if I can’t?” Dick swallowed as he asked. 

“Then you shouldn’t be out there.” Bruce warned. “That fear will make you hesitate and that hesitation will be the difference between a win and a loss, a death and a life… a fall and a catch. It’ll be hard for me when you get out there, any time I hear a shot I’m going to look for you… but I will trust in you and that you’re safe.” 

“So when I can step onto that roof and not hesitate… then I’m ready.” 

Bruce offered the smallest, weakest smile followed by a nod. 

“Then you’re ready.”

The truth was Dick was scared. Not just of change, of not being like he used to be out there, but that this was going to end his career. He never felt freer than he did soaring above the streets of Gotham in a freefall. Chasing Damian across the city. Playing tag with TIm despite Tim’s begging him to focus on their tasks ahead. Sitting with Bruce and rambling for so long that he got the coldest of Bat glares and finding them to be less of a deterrent and more of an encouragement. 

The idea of never being a part of this life again in a tangible way was making him miserable. It was holding him back from really going for it. One failure out there in the field and it was over: he’d either die or get someone killed. He wasn’t sure he was ready to risk all that again. 

“What if I’m never ready?” He whispered. 

Bruce was quiet. He hadn’t ever considered the possibility in all this time that Dick wouldn’t be able to get back out there. It had never looked like an easy road but with each passing day, every recovery milestone reached, Dick’s progress only encouraged his belief. Dick would be back out there again at his side as Nightwing again. He may even take the cowl in the future for another run as Batman. He’d always believed in the ever surviving first Robin.

What if this was the one that he didn’t come back from? 

“Then we’ll figure it out, Dick,” Bruce replied. “If you don’t think you can do it, no one will force you into it. This has to be your choice.”

Bruce pulled Dick tighter against him, feeling immediate guilt for Dick’s anguish. If he’d have known Dick was doubting himself then maybe he wouldn’t have been so harsh about telling him he wasn’t ready. Maybe he’d needed encouragement to get back out there? Maybe he’d handled this all wrong? It wasn’t uncommon to feel post traumatic stress regarding an injury like that. 

“No matter what you decide, I’ll respect and support your decision.” Bruce told him. 

Dick nodded, looking up finally and offering a reassuring smile. He’d be okay and he’d make it through this. He had to. Because this is what made him happy. This is where he wanted to be. He’d worked long and hard to get back into fighting shape. He couldn’t give up now. And Bruce was right. 

He wasn’t ready. Not yet. He would be though, soon. 

“I guess another month or so won’t hurt. Let’s see where I’m at in a month.” Dick reasoned. 

“Driving Alfred crazy, same as you’re doing now, I’d imagine.” Bruce chided. 

“How dare you? When did you get a sense of humor?” 

Bruce laughed, getting up from the seat. He knew Dick could do it. Even if Dick wasn’t sure yet. It would just take a little more time. The whole process was letting time heal him, physically and mentally. It wasn’t enough to just be ready physically, he had to have his head in the game. 

“Go hit the showers. I need you on comms.” 

Dick gave an exaggerated groan, before dutifully heading to the showers.


	13. Epilogue: Resolution

There were a lot of things a person could do in the 1 year, 2 months and 3 days it took Dick Grayson to recover from the bullet to the head. He spent that time rebuilding his memories, his body and his spirit. Things had changed for him, there were still parts of his life he may never remember. There were things he was still learning how to do as he rebuilt his skills one at a time. He was never going to be the man he was a year ago, but that's what a year did to most people. He’d just had a harder road. 

Batman landed on the rooftop, almost silently before he approached his eldest boy’s post. It was the first night out on patrol since the injury. Nightwing was standing at the edge of the roof, his eyes closed and his head tilted slightly toward the sky as a breeze picked up. 

“You sure about this?” Batman asked.

Nightwing looked at him, then smiled. It was the cocky, self assured smile that he was used to just before a joke or a trick. If Dick was doubting himself, Bruce would never know because he was shielding it well. 

He was a long way from the uncertain young man sitting in the cave training gym asking Bruce if he ever would be ready. The way he stood, back straight, gaze forward. He was smiling, he was happy. He was the Dick Grayson he’d always known. 

He was ready. 

“I can’t believe I actually missed Condiment King.” Nightwing answered.

Batman didn’t laugh. He was stoic outside even though inside he felt pride for the return of his first sidekick. He saw Nightwing ready himself to leave the edge of the building. He could feel a slight tension in his chest. Don’t let the fear guide you, he’d told him. He couldn’t give in to it. He had to trust that the younger man knew himself. 

“Race?”

“No.”

But before Batman spoke, Nightwing was already off the edge of the building, falling with his arms stretched out like an Olympic diver. Within an instant, he shot his line and swung across the sky in a smooth streak of black and blue. 

Batman shook his head, and jumped off the roof after him. 

**The End**


End file.
